


Hedonistic

by saucyminx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, BDSM, Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-11
Updated: 2009-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucyminx/pseuds/saucyminx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hedonistic: noun: a person whose life is devoted to the pursuit of pleasure and self-gratification. Dean likes to kill, Sam likes to obsess. When they come together it's more than either could anticipate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was raining in slanting sheets, a torrential downpour, the first time he found a piece of sea glass buried in the muddy sand. The rain was irrelevant in the long run but the memory tended to pop up in the moments before he stepped from the shadows and never failed to bring a smile to his lips.

They never scream- he never lets them- but Dean thinks if they did, he wouldn't enjoy it as much. Something about the give of the body beneath him, the silent thrash and pull of muscles as he slips a needle into the firm tendons along the neck.

It took roughly seventy five seconds for the drug to work its way through the system of the average sized man - and Dean had a fondness for the average sized man. It was seventy five seconds of pure joy and very often Dean couldn’t fight off the tiniest bubble of laughter.

They always struggle against him, writhing and squirming, ass against crotch - it heated his blood, made his heart skip a beat, and got him harder than anything else ever would.

A hotel room was not the type of place one took a person they were intending to kill. Dean had learned that in the very beginning. Especially if one preferred to take their time - and Dean was nothing short of a perfectionist. Also, settling down in one city was too risky so buying a home has always been out of the question.

What Dean also learned with time was that in every city there would always be an empty house in a neighborhood development that sprang up too quickly for the struggling economy. Generally there was more than one and Dean gained an odd sort of thrill out of picking just the right place. Unfinished basements were his weak spot. Cold cement walls with dug out window wells that let in just the faintest amount of light but gave any passers by little chance of seeing in.

There are roughly five and a half liters of blood in the human body. Depending on the depth and the places one cut, it could take as little as ten hours or as long as two days to drain a body of those five and a half liters.

On one occasion Dean stretched it out for almost a week but that boy had been oh-so-pretty and Dean had wanted to savor him for as long as possible.

There was a special sort of art to the lines Dean liked to carve and they tended to vary depending on the physique of the victim, oddly enough. Should the man be tall and lithe- all straight lines and sharp bones- Dean found he preferred the aesthetic of horizontal streaks of crimson. For more muscular men- broad shouldered with well-defined arms - Dean enjoyed the zig zag of slashes in mostly random formations. On the rare occasion he should choose a woman Dean carved little shapes into their skin just to watch the decorations bleed with a smile.

Sometimes Dean wondered what people around him thought about as they made their way about their busy lives. Dean was not an overly picky man, liked blonds just as much as brunettes, though he tended toward those with pale creamy skin. Those that stood along the sidelines, so obviously alone they were practically begging to be taken.

There were times Dean would interact with them _before_ , make casual conversation, play a round of pool, but he understood the importance of the lack of physical contact.

This was the key, the bottom line, the most important thing. Every touch must be guarded, every part of him secure, and even though there were times when Dean watched the blood pooling along the bright blue tarp that he'd give anything to shove his hands down his pants and stroke his painfully hard cock to a blissful release, Dean knew better. Should he slip this up- the cost would be his life. And Dean was particularly found of killing but not so much of dying.

They called him the Sea Glass Killer not because he used sea glass to kill his victims- which he didn't think was possible- but because he'd taken to leaving just a little piece behind. Dean had quite the collection in various shades of blues and greens and each time- at each place- he'd gone out of his way to decide the best hidden nook for one to rest. It was his calling card, he supposed, though he'd never intended to establish himself in the public eye as a prominent figure.

Really Dean was just glad they had chosen to focus in on the sea glass and not taken to calling him the vampire or something equally as ridiculous. Dean did not drink blood, never would, and just because he enjoyed the way it spilled across alabaster skin- or the coppery scent that filled the room with each drag of shiny metal against flesh- should not suggest he _tasted_ it. Who knew what his victims had been up to before he stepped in and swept their lives away?

Dean tracked the progress of investigations through the media along with the rest of the nation. Each time a body was found he smiled fondly in remembrance, imagining the scared looks of the newer- less experienced- officers in stark contrast to the grim acceptance of their elder partners. He knew each body would come up clean, free of blood and DNA, nothing to narrow down a suspect besides the use of a drug called Zemuron which could be found in most hospitals.

Sometimes an agent would appear on screen and insist they were making real progress in tracking down the killer and this always made Dean laugh. He'd been doing this for far too long for them to find him now.

He wasn’t looking for his next victim when he found him. It was a rare event but Dean had simply been enjoying a nice beer in the far corner of the bar when the man had sauntered over. Dean thought there was a lot to be said for the way one person greeted another and this man sealed his fate by leaning against the table with a smirk and practically purring. "Don't think I've seen you around here before. I'd remember such a pretty face." Some people were simply insufferable.

"Don't think I've been here before." Dean often looked at picking out his victim like selecting the perfect canvas. One had to be wise and not hasty, wait long enough and one could find perfection. Sometimes, perfection found Dean. This man was nearly that- personality excluded. He was just short of six foot, loose denim jeans hung low on slender hips, casually tossed charcoal locks laying in stark contrast against creamy pale flesh. The smile that played across Dean's lips was probably closer to a leer, but the man didn't seem to mind. "I would definitely remember you."

Truthfully, Dean wasn't very good with small talk. Besides monitoring his own case, Dean didn’t follow current events; nor did he watch TV, and he very rarely saw movies. So unless the person he was attempting stilted conversation with enjoyed horror novels- which they seldom did- Dean had little to go on.

He nodded and feigned interest as the man babbled on about some sports team that apparently made a mockery of themselves the night before. Why people tended to assume others were interested in the same things as them was beyond him. It wasn’t like Dean was going to attempt to discuss what areas of the body had the best blood flow when slashed open.

Dean used the man's vanity to his advantage and slipped a pair of leather gloves over his fingers, tucking the edges under his sleeves and waiting.

It didn’t take long for the man to suggest they find somewhere much more private to continue their conversation. If Dean weren’t so consumed with the beginning tendrils of desire crawling through him he might have rolled his eyes at the way the man purred the words. They hadn't even touched and- besides a few offhand comments that held a layered tone of possible interest- Dean had given nothing away that hinted he'd like to go home with this man.

But he rose from the table with a smile nonetheless and guided the brunette from the bar with a hand hovering just over the small of his back. It was amazing how trusting some people would be when they thought there was a sexual encounter at stake. At least in the case of men, which was generally one of the reasons he preferred pursuing his own sex.

There was sea glass then seventy five seconds of jerking muscles against his own. Dean's breath hitched when the man made a stuttering noise low in his throat before the drug took hold.

"Don't fret precious, this is really for the best." He advised as he half carried, half slid the body to his waiting '67 Chevy Impala. "Really," Dean mused as he climbed behind the driver's seat. "The world could do without your level of confidence. It's people like you that have brought our economy to its knees." He chuckled as he drove through the streets casually.

Sometimes the level of _need_ consumed Dean and he drove just along the edge of the five miles over the speed limit, fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel, desperate for his next fix. Once he had fallen prey to that need too swiftly and spent the next three weeks steam cleaning the backseat three times a day, though the dark pool of blood against his car's interior had been most appealing. He still pulled up the memory whenever his palm dragged roughly along his flesh. Tonight though he intended to take his time, having just enjoyed himself less than two weeks ago.

The house Dean had was just the faintest color blue- though it looked white in the darkness- and had been on the market for at least three months from what he could tell. Of course Dean would never be foolish enough to leave his car there so he made quick work of breaking in through the back door and dragging the body down the flight of stairs. He smirked at the thump of the man's feet over each step.

He'd already gone through the process of taping down the tarp, securing the ties to wooden beams serving as walls, so it was simple work to drag his blade along the man's shirt, pulling the material off. Shoes and socks followed quickly after, jeans next. Dean worried his lower lip between his teeth as he hooked fingers beneath underwear and lifted an inch or so up to slice the blade through the white cotton. The tip of his blade nicked the creamy upper thigh and Dean sucked in a sharp breath at the beading of blood.

He was painfully hard in a flash, growing more so with every rope he secured around wrists and ankles. After a moment he stepped back to admire his work, gloved hand dropping to rub against his crotch.

Though it was not quite midnight and unlikely that anyone would pass by, Dean knew he couldn’t linger too long. He dropped to his knees beside the man's hips, laying the edge of his knife over the smear of blood and dragging down, barely grazing the skin. Repeating the action on the opposite side, Dean moaned softly. It happened in a flash, the quick horizontal lines just under the man's ribs, above his heart, below his knees.

None were deep enough to gush, just to trickle, and Dean pushed up from the ground, retrieving a rag from his duffel bag and rubbing it along the stained metal. He brought the cloth to his nose and inhaled sharply, shuddered and felt the jerk of his cock pressing against his jeans.

After dropping the knife into his bag Dean kneeled beside the man's head and secured the rag over his mouth, and shot another dose of the drug into his neck to keep him out while he was gone.

-=-=-=-

It had been almost a hundred degrees outside the second time Dean saw a piece of sea glass. His father brought it to him with an outstretched palm and explained how it was made by the tumble of water and sand over time. Shortly after that moment Dean stumbled on the large jut of rocks and skidded against the rough surface, tearing open his knees and palms.

The sting of salt water burned through his system and it was this Dean remembered whenever he left his victim tied to wooden posts. Generally Dean went out of his way to ensure the hotel he was staying at was within walking distance of the house he had chosen. It didn’t matter if the walk is an hour and a half, Dean enjoyed the night air. With each step Dean considered the burn of the sea salt, the way his blood stained the water, and occasionally found himself wondering if that was the very moment his fate was determined.

-=-=-=-

Zemuron lasted a good ninety minutes – the effect lingered as more blood was lost- so the man was just barely coming around when Dean returned to the basement. He enjoyed this part- maybe more than he should. The flicker of panic in the eyes as the pain slowly returned. The way they would try to scream only to have it drowned out by cloth. They would try and pull free only to find they were secured. It had become even more pleasurable as time had gone by and people put two and two together. They had heard the reports, read the stories and knew the Sea Glass Killer tied up his victims, drained their blood.

Dean watched the play of emotions across the man's face and smirked slightly. "I know what you're thinking." Dean pulled the blade from his bag and gripped the handle between his fingers. He crossed to the man and positioned a foot on either side of his hips, crouching down to meet terrified blue eyes.

"This isn't real. It's just a nightmare. You're too young to die. You haven't experienced enough." Dean singsonged the words, dropped the tip of the blade to the creamy skin just under the belly button. "Maybe you should consider the idea that this was _exactly_ what you were made for." He smiled with the pull of the blade along flesh and the resulting bubble of plasma.

Every fiber of Dean's being cried out for a release with each glide of steel against unforgiving muscle. But Dean denied himself that pleasure, savoring the thrum of his body hour after hour. It kept him sane, knowing that once the man's eyes closed for the last time, once his chest no longer rose and fell as he struggled for breath, that Dean would reach that peak.

It was the build up that really did it for Dean anyway and he was more than ready to wait out the eleven hours it would take for the man to die. Losing sleep never troubled him anymore. Extended hours without food passed unnoticed - though occasionally he would stop for a cup of coffee because the burn along his throat intensified things.

Later, the body would be limp and cold and the blood was beginning to congeal. Dean never rushed the clean up. This part took time to perfect. The rolling of the tarp in just the right way to drain the blood into buckets. The perfect method of wrapping the body to carry it up the stairs and lay it on the plastic sheet in his trunk.

Then the disposal, the right location. Dean always spent hours hunting for that perfect spot. And finally where to lay the tiny piece of sea glass. It was all a perfect art, one that he knew was under appreciated but it didn't bother him. People couldn't understand Dean- _no one_ could understand Dean- and he'd long since accepted that.

When all was said and done, Dean felt just the slightest tug of sadness and nostalgia. But by that point he was so beyond turned on that ten steps into his hotel room he would drop his pants, curl a fist around himself in desperate need of relief.

His body still smelled of blood, his fingers still shaking from the success of another kill, and he would come within minutes with quick sharp tugs, white hot and fast into his palm.

Next he would shower, sleep, and eat - in a variety of different orders depending on necessity- and when the following morning came he would pack up his things and leave without looking back.

-=-=-=-

Sam had kept a journal for years, most of his life, sometimes a single line summarized months, sometimes he wrote pages at a time.

The day he saw the first article about the Sea Glass Killer Sam's journal entries changed. He read the article from top to bottom, then read it again, hand pressed to the opposite page of the magazine, damp and sweat-sticky. He peeled the glossy paper from his palm and pulled the drawer open to retrieve some scissors.

With such care, it was almost obsessive, Sam cut out the article within a millimeter of the text all the way around. As he flattened the article onto a blank journal page he smiled, and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. He put a single piece of tape over each corner of the article, and just like that his journal changed; it went from being about Sam to being about _more than Sam_.

He laid his head down on the table, finger lightly tracing over the words of the article like a man learning the curves of a new lover's body. _Who are you?_

-=-=-=-

The second article Sam read was entitled "The Enigma of the Sea Glass Killer." A wistful smile tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth. He was no enigma this killer. He was an artist, a creator, the catalyst for the transformation of people from human beings to works of art. Never having laid eyes on him, Sam already knew this man was beautiful, aesthetes taste and a wise man's patience. He _was_ the progression of the human race.

Sam cut the article out, the same exacting way, within milimeters of the words. He taped the corners down gently, pressing the article flat, almost reverently.

The Sea Glass Killer was a single, horrifying force of nature and Sam would patiently wait, trying to find him, seeking him out.

These days Sam had nothing but time on his hands. He had always done what he wanted; it surprised no one who knew him when he began to spend a lot of time in his home, withdrawing from the outside world.

Prodigy they had called him at first, then upstart, genius was thrown around and as his twenty-seventh year approached he was now being called the eclectic recluse.

He went out, slipped through the crowds unnoticed. Amazing; he was six foot five, long shaggy brown hair, average looks he thought – he had been told he was attractive but he didn’t care. Poor posture, hands jammed in his pockets, hair over his face, Sam could slip into any bar as anonymously as anyone else. His hazel eyes flashed around, moving from one man to another. He always left alone, no one seemed good enough, no one seemed _right_. Sam already knew who he wanted to meet.

He breathed because he needed to, he lived. The only time his heart pulsed with the rhythm of life was when he was reading pieces of the Sea Glass Killer's life; those words, laid out in front of him. His palm slid up his firm chest, tugging his t-shirt up, as he imagined the artist's hand on his body. Stretching a long arm out he picked up his knife off the table, breath hitching in his chest as he pressed the cool silver blade flat against his nipple. His other hand snaked down his body, palming his desire through the front of his jeans; if he could just _find_ this man his life would be complete.

-=-=-

It had cost him a lot of money, time and a few favors from on-line acquaintances; Sam was shaking as he sat at his computer and clicked open some police files. A photo opened in front of him, one of the Sea Glass Killer's victims. Like a moth to a flame, Sam's fingers twitched and glided to the screen tracing over the lines and curves, cuts, the blood; he gasped hands shaking, legs falling open under the table as he slid down in his chair. _Beautiful_. He was so hard, achingly hard but he denied himself – there was only one set of hands he wanted on his body.

He drew in a shuddering breath and leaned forward clicking to another file. A profile: single white male in his thirty's, targets primarily white males with no distinguishing features. Sam couldn’t help laughing. Even he could see from crime scene photos he was clicking through that this artist chose a very specific type of canvas.

The skin, Sam sucked in a deep breath trying to slow his racing heart; it was gorgeous, pale, ivory, and creamy like coffee with too much milk. The lines, cuts, marks - the signature, Sam's head fell back as visions of this man at work. His hands dropped to his thighs and dug in, hard, bruising. _So much want_.

-=-=-

Lying in bed one morning, afternoon, he rarely knew what time of day it was until the evening air drifted in the window; Sam thought he would leave the artist a _gift._

He had studied the case files, photos, everything that he had been able to find out. He had fallen asleep the night before flipping through his journal, re-reading the articles.

As he moved to his closet to find something to wear he was thinking of the best way to remove clothes from a body, in the kitchen making toast he sharpened his knives. That was how he moved through the mundane of his life; with the atypical and bizarre running through his mind.

Sam had made a connection that the police hadn't; and he had made a plan he knew that the police _certainly_ hadn't made. With all his resources, (there were perks to being independently wealthy), Sam had found a killing that the police had missed.

It was in a small town and the police should have seen it- but modern technology being what it was, somehow, it had slipped through their fingers. A distant online friend - through third party email re-routing - contacted Sam with a photo from a small police force outside of Rosston in Oklahoma.

He had figured it out because the _missing_ kill was a copy of his favorite. His favorite killing, his favorite piece of artwork was a young man found thirteen miles south of the St. Stephen’s Church in the middle of nowhere in Oklahoma.

The photo, Sam was sure, didn't do it justice, but it was all he had. He had only an autopsy photo, but the beauty of the cuts, the shallow, the deep; the joy with which the work was done - it all oozed out of the image and smothered Sam until he could barely breathe. The body was left precisely thirteen miles from the Church where the _missing_ thirteenth kill was found.

The small case had originally caught his eye because the body had been found on the steps of a Church. He had done a lot of research on the area and discovered there could only have been one possible kill site: an abandoned warehouse that was precisely thirteen miles north of the Church. By Sam's calculations - the case he had discovered would have been the Sea Glass killer's thirteenth kill. It was a copy of the Wilmington work of art - with one small change, a small change that Sam had already guessed and the police had missed entirely. The design made by the sea glass, yes, the bumbling idiots had managed to find that, the design was reversed in the second killing. Reversed as though the artist had just thought, perhaps, it was so beautiful it should be done twice. So beautiful - and yet - each canvas deserved acknowledgment in some way - so the sea glass changed.

Kill number twelve happened thirteen miles south of the Church, kill number thirteen happened thirteen miles north of the exact same Church precisely thirteen days later. It was the artist’s celebration, a milestone and Sam was the only person who had found it.

And so - Sam had his way to send an invitation to the macabre dance. He wanted to send a _come find me, teach me_ or _just know I admire you_. This was his best chance. He would copy the twelfth kill and leave the body thirteen miles south of the Church, then wait precisely thirteen days before repeating the thirteenth kill. The repetition of the art would be done in a warehouse thirteen miles north of the same Church Sam had found; the warehouse Sam lived in.

It hadn't taken long for Sam to convert the top floor; remove possibilities for detection, and there he would wait, and hope.

-=-=-

The first kill went smoothly. Sam was no genius at this, not like the artist he so wanted to meet; but his work was still beautiful when he was finished. He learned some things about himself. He could be alluring, could use his face and his body. The seduction was the hardest part for Sam. He'd never liked being the one in control; it was an uncomfortable place for him.

Sam licked his been nervous when a young man approached him. The man was shorter than Sam, with short blond hair but it was the skin that sealed it for Sam. He knew that the artist would love this young man’s skin; smooth, cool and ivory, almost translucent over his veins.

Sam followed his plan perfectly. Soon enough the young blond man was unconscious and Sam's theory that Norcuron would work for his purposes was proven. Sam was standing above the man with his knife glinting in the moonlight, ready. The first cut made Sam's blood rush in his ears, his heart pound - the rest came simply to him. He followed the pattern that had been left for him. The artist's work was embedded in Sam's mind it was easy to copy.

Sam's body was buzzing by the time he had dumped the body and was driving home. His hands shook so badly when he tried to get his warehouse door open that he dropped his keys twice. When he was finally locked inside safely he let out a laugh inside the echoing space. _Soon, please come soon._

-=-=-=-

Dean was having a fairly decent morning until the newspaper in the coffee shop caught his attentions. _The Sea Glass Killer Strikes Again._ His eyes widened as he stopped and curled his fingers along the paper, bringing it up to scan the details.

It sounded almost completely like him- down to the little details including the piece of sea glass left behind- only Dean was not responsible. Something about the location had him stopping mid sentence and he read closer, trying to remember if he'd ever been to this city. He hadn't of course and Dean was suddenly consumed with an intense rush of emotion.

He wasn’t sure whether he should be mad or flattered or paranoid that someone could pull off a murder well enough to fool the police.

Forgetting about the coffee, Dean took the paper and climbed into his car, heading for the highway without a second’s hesitation.

-=-=-=-

The entire drive- two days, since he'd been visiting the Washington coast line and Louisiana was nearly halfway across the country- Dean's brain reeled with the story.

The meager details the paper provided- and other ones he'd picked up along the way- didn't give him nearly enough information but there was something oddly familiar about the way the body was found. Why would someone dare to copy him? Didn't they realize he could kill them while they slept and never even have a chance to fight back? Why would someone want to attract his attention, because obviously they had to know he would notice?

When he finally pulled up to the city the murder had happened in he skipped his usual steps of picking out the appropriate hotel. Should the situation present itself for a kill, Dean would figure things out later.

This copycat killer seemed to throw him off in a way he hadn't expected. It was easier than he expected to get details about the murder scene, one flash of a fake FBI badge and the officer was handing over the files, muttering about the FBI never leaving him alone to do his job.

And later, when Dean was safely holed up in his hotel room, his heart raced as his eyes scanned the crime scene photos. Each cut was neatly precise, the way the body was laid, the place the sea glass sat; everything was hauntingly familiar.

Whoever this person was, they knew exactly what to do. The report said traces of Norcuron were found in the victim’s system which made him hesitate for a moment. Not quite the right drug, wore off too quickly and Dean found himself thinking he wound need to teach his copycat this. After all, the police seemed content to let the change slide this time but if there were more...

After stashing the file with his things, Dean headed to the crime scene to confirm his suspicions. Thirteen miles north and he pulled to the side of the road. The church was waiting there for him and Dean was not sure if he was surprised anymore.

The real test was yet to come. According to the file, the body had been deceased for forty eight hours before they found it. Add in the seven more for him to read the about it in the paper, the two it took to drive there, and Dean was looking at being able to see his copycat in action the night after tomorrow. He drove thirteen miles north past the church and scanned the street, quietly observing and settling in to wait.

-=-=-

When the night came for the final murder, Sam's recreation, his _homage_ to his idol, Sam was vibrating. He could barely contain himself. He felt, for the first time that finding a victim, picking up an unsuspecting man in a bar, would be easy.

After a long luxurious shower, Sam dressed in a tight gray t-shirt and slipped into worn black jeans and his favorite boots. While combing his hair, Sam whistled softly, his favorite piece by Vivaldi. He couldn’t remember being this happy in a very long time.

Sam sat in the window watching the night grow darker then jogged down the stairs and stood outside for a few moments inhaling big lung fulls of the cool night air. Looking around one final time, he slipped into his Subaru and drove into town; he'd chosen a new bar for tonight's hunting.

-=-=-=-

What Dean didn't expect, sitting low behind the driver's seat and watching the warehouse entrance curiously, was the man that stepped out. He was _gorgeous_ and exactly the type of man Dean would enjoy carving into. His pulse raced just at the sight of him. It was nearly unbelievable that _this_ would be the man who was his copycat. Dean had been expecting long black greasy hair, someone who was obsessive but not nearly skilled enough to appreciate the art of what he did. This man could have been any other average person and Dean couldn't resist his curiosity.

For the past day or so he'd been intending to track the man’s actions, watch him work from the sidelines, but Dean knew now that wouldn't be enough. Even if he were to watch through the window with binoculars, he wouldn't be able to hear the sounds, _smell_ the copper. So when the man had driven off he stashed his car several blocks away and walked swiftly back to the warehouse and climbed up the fire escape to the window on the fourth floor. He'd been intending to search around and hopefully find where the killing would be done but discovered quickly he didn't need too. The tarp was already spread out- taped down- and Dean didn't have to cross to the duffel bag along the floor to know what would be inside. With a faint smirk he slid to the furthest shadows of the large room and leaned against the wall. He waited for the man and his victim to return.

-=-=-=-

The party was in full swing at the bar by the time Sam slinked in the front door. He grabbed himself a drink, people were always suspicious of people who didn’t drink, and headed to the back of the bar.

He watched; he had learned a lot about watching people, determining which men wanted him, which men could be persuaded, which men were dangerous. That night the bar was full and it took Sam a while, moving through the crowd silently, and then he saw him.

He was a tall man, almost Sam's height, beautiful blue-black hair, lithe body. Sam wandered closer and leaned against the bar where the young man could see him. Sam had mastered the pose, elbows on the bar one leg holding his weight, the other leg sprawled open, _inviting_.

Soon, the young man had noticed Sam and danced over. Then, the young man was pressed up against Sam's thigh and they were both hard, turned on and anxious to get out of the bar. Obviously, they had different reasons for wanting to be in a different place.

Sam crushed the man up against his car in the farthest corner of the parking lot. It was so easy to slip the needle in the man's neck and Sam devoured the man's scream with his mouth, hands pinning the man's chest and neck to the car. He struggled a bit getting the man into the back of the Subaru - but soon enough he was on his way back to the warehouse, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

Almost at the warehouse, Sam pulled out the door opener and slowed the vehicle, hitting the button and waiting patiently.

Within minutes, Sam had the young man in the freight elevator and out onto the top floor. He was ready. He had refused to even think that the Sea Glass Killer may be close – it was a one in a million shot that the artist would have noticed Sam's attempt at acknowledgment. Either way, Sam was excited; he bounced on the balls of his feet as he exchanged leather gloves for latex and moved toward the man. The man was moaning softly, eyes struggling to open so Sam leaned down and whispered to him, "don't worry, not much longer." Sam breathed in the young man's hair, loving the fresh clean scent of it. He was ready.

Sam moved quickly and efficiently, he tied the man's ankles and hands, tied a soft scarf over his forehead. Sam allowed himself this one concession; he didn't want the man to be able to turn away from his gaze. He stood for a while at the man's feet, leaning against the foot of the table containing his tools, rubbing the hard bulge in his jeans along the table edge. And thus it began.

-=-=-

Dean was panting heavily by the time the first line of blood appeared across the man's chest. His copycat had done an amazing job at picking his victim; Dean would have selected the same man had he been in the same place. His heart raced as he watched the man work.

Dropping a hand to his crotch, he palmed the denim for a long stretch of time, watching with intense eyes. The knots along the victim's wrists were perfect, hell, every little action was perfect and it hit Dean all at once the truth. He must _have_ this man.

It all came down to a matter of timing. Assuming the copycat knew him- it seemed he had definitely done his research- there would be a moment after a few basic cuts when his copycat would step back and observe for awhile. After all even the police had been able to figure out that the cuts were all made a different points in time as the body weakened. Dean watched his copycat for two full hours, learning the man's little differences in technique.

When the blood beneath the victim's body was starting to pool, the copycat stepped back and cleaned his knife, laid it on a wooden table and turned to his victim to watch. Dean smirked because this was the opening he'd been waiting for. The copycat's back was to him, his attention focused wholly on the bound man, and Dean was well practiced in the art of stealth.

Sliding slowly through the warehouse, Dean hovered just inches behind the copycat for a long moment, reaching down to free the blade he kept strapped to his ankle. Before the man could react, Dean wrap his left arm firm around his waist and pulled him in flush against his body, blade coming up to rest against the flesh of his copycat's neck. With the head tilted to the side he rested his lips against the man's ear and whispered, "Is all this for me?"

Sam's knees buckled the instant the words worked their way into his mind. He caught himself on the edge of the table and let his head fall back against his captor's shoulder, not trying to pull away from the knife. He opened his mouth, unable to speak for a few moments utterly shocked at the presence of the other man. _It had to be him._

"You," Sam whispered, "all for you... only you." He left his eyes drift closed offering no resistance. If the artist wanted to kill him, slice his neck, so be it.

The words sent a thrill through him that Dean had not been anticipating and he ground his crotch against the man's ass with a quiet groan. "And are you pleased with your work?"

Dean turned them to get a better angle of the tied man. He slid the blade beneath the material of his copycat's shirt and dragged down, savoring the way it parted easily beneath the sharp edge. Sliding his left hand lower, Dean cupped the front of the man's crotch, pleased to find him already aroused.

A low whimper left Sam's mouth as the man grabbed him; it sent a shock of electricity through his body. "Not... beautiful as yours," Sam murmured. His chest was heaving as he panted in air; he'd waited so long for this moment and now he just felt awed, unworthy somehow.

Lowering his head Sam slid down the other man's body eel-like, landing on his knees at his feet. His hand slipped between his legs, and he ground the heel of his palm against his crotch and leaned back against the artist's legs heavily; he'd allowed himself no release since his first journal entry, _so long._

"No," Dean curled his fingers in the man's hair and yanked his head back roughly. "Do _not_ touch yourself," he hissed and tugged sharply to pull the man back up. Dropping his blade to the ground he clamped his hands hard around the man's arms and held him steady. He hadn't prepared himself for bright, lust filled hazel eyes and he sucked in a sharp breath. "We never touch ourselves at the scene. Do you understand?"

Sam nodded mutely, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. His first glimpse at the man's eyes almost stopped his heart. A startling deep green, almost black with lust, long dark lashes; Sam's breath stuttered in his chest fingers twitching at his sides, he had never wanted to _touch_ someone more. Already, Sam knew he was not the one in control of this situation. Sam was the apprentice, the less-than-perfect copy. He swallowed and bowed his head again, not able to look into those eyes.

Dean considered the man silently for a moment, sliding one hand along the exposed flesh between the cut shirt and ghosting over silky skin. "What's your name?" He asked as he watched his fingers dance along the muscles above the man's waist line. "Why did you do this?"

Leaning slightly into the touch, Sam swallowed trying to get his voice to work; "Sam... Samuel Winchester." He stole a glance at those eyes once more; so intense; "I thought you deserved it - deserved a present - an acknowledgment. What you do... it's beautiful." His cheeks flushed and he fell silent, letting his lashes fall to his ruddy cheeks.

Taking a moment to ensure the man was telling the truth; Dean pulled the man up and forward, flush against his body. Their lips hovered inches from each other and he just barely brushed their mouths together. "Samuel Winchester... Sam..." he rolled the name across his tongue. "You shall be mine." He smirked slightly and dropped his hand between their hips, rubbing the denim firmly. "Are you ready to continue what you've started?"

As the artist’s lips left his, Sam chased them, desperately wanting more. The man's words circled around Sam's mind, _mine_. He had no problem with that, no problem at all. "Whatever you want..." Sam paused, "if you want him, he's yours." Sam's hips twitched forward, he needed more, needed something. He moaned quietly and sucked in a deep breath.

Dean bit down on his lip, considering his options. Sam was like putty under his fingers and a thrill of desire shot through him at the idea of shaping him, molding him into the perfect creature. "I want you to complete this." He rubbed his palm harder into Sam before pushing him back folding his arms across his chest. "You know what comes next, yes? What cuts to make and where? Show me."

Stumbling back Sam caught himself and turned quickly, walking over to the small table and picking up his knife again. When he looked down at his hand it was shaking; he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. This was his time to show the artist that he had paid attention; show him that he understood the fundamental beauty of his work even if he might lack the skill to complete it with the same finesse. Calmer, Sam opened his eyes and nodded and stepped back up the table.

Once he started again he found it easier to focus. He pushed the artist from his mind and focused on the canvas; he followed the detailed pattern in his mind, just the right horizontal slices. Sam sighed softly as they skin fell apart slightly, dark red beading along the cut almost perfectly spaced.

Placing some small cuts between the others, like detail on a water color - he moved to the other side of the young man's body. He made the final cut slowly, languidly, great attention to the subtleties he had seen in the other man's work. It was a deeper cut, longer, the final stroke on the canvas and Sam copied it perfectly. Stepping back - he lowered his blade and waited.

Dean felt a swell of pride curl through him. He had inspired this man. Leaning back against the wall, Dean watched with a steady gaze. He was harder then he'd ever imagined being and his vision blurred. Dean found himself wondering if it were possible to come without being touched.

"Good." He breathed as Sam stepped back from the body. Pushing off the wall he moved forward, stepping in behind him once more and curling his gloved hand over Sam's, shaping his hand around the knife in his grasp.

"One here," he breathed, leaning them forward and down to help drag a line across the side of the man's chest that wouldn't have been viewable from the picture. "This will speed up the process some," he informed as he tilted the blade and drew a vertical line down the thigh muscle. "But I think for now, it's for the best. I find myself... preoccupied."

"That wasn't in the photo I had." Sam's eyes widened, “I'm sorry." Sam was overly conscious of everywhere the man touched him. Through two layers of clothing he could feel heat, hardness, muscles, movement. Licking his lips again, Sam breathed in, turning his head so he could see the other man out the corner of his eye. He had a gorgeous face; Sam's hard shaft twitched in his jeans and he shifted his hips slightly trying to get comfortable.

"You couldn't have known," Dean advised and stepped back, taking the blade from Sam's hand and cleaning it. "Just like the Norcuron. Though I can understand that, Zemuron is much more difficult to come by." He wet his lips and peered curiously over Sam's things. The idea of keeping the man around- of sharing this part of him- was altogether enticing and terrifying at once. Dean had never _shared_ with anyone. But then he considered what it meant, to have the man as his, to have complete _control_ over him.

A slow smirk pulled up his lip and he crooked his finger at Sam, beckoning him closer and stepping forward to meet him halfway. "My name is Dean by the way." He added as he pulled the glove from his right hand and trailed his finger down Sam's exposed flesh.

"H..hello." Sam's muscles rippled under _Dean's_ touch. He swayed forward slightly. Dean was like a magnet; now that he was near Sam didn't want to move away from him. "Zemuron," he muttered, "I will remember that." He filed the information away, silently berating himself for making a mistake, just a little more research and he probably would have come up with it on his own. As Dean's hand fell away from his body Sam felt such a sense of loss it almost brought tears to his eyes. His fingers drifted out toward Dean's thigh.

It occurred to Dean that he didn't allow himself to be touched very often, which was simply due to the control he never liked to give up. But the idea of Sam wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking him to completion was more than exciting.

"See that you do." Dean nodded and stepped back from Sam, moving around him to gaze down at the unconscious man on the tarp. "It will take at least a few more hours to complete this and we should never rush perfection Sam," he advised.

He stepped around the body on the floor, leg on either side of the body and then tilted his head as he crouched down to gaze at the pooling lines of blood. A soft groan fell from his lips and he hovered a hand just inches above the skin. "This is why I bleed them; the anticipation, watching life drain away so slowly. It is the most beautiful thing on this earth, the end of life. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sam crouched down by the young man's head, "it's much more beautiful than life." A smile twitched at the corner of Sam's mouth as he admired Dean; the other man had strong thighs, his body was well-toned and Sam's blood started racing a bit faster even thinking about seeing him without his shirt. He was having trouble staying focused now that Dean was in front him, part of him wanted to just step back and watch, get out of the way and try to memorize every glorious details. But, the harder work was coming up.

Pushing up from his crouch, Dean surveyed the area for a long moment before looking at Sam, beckoning him forward once more. "Come here Samuel, we have a few things to discuss." He held out a hand for the man and then tugged Sam close, connecting their hips for a long moment and rolling them. His eyes fluttered as the pleasure rolled through him than he once more leveled his gaze with Sam's.

"There are several things I need to take care of. I would like you to finish him up, but remember to be neat. We don't want anyone thinking this death has been caused by anyone outside me understand?" He waited for Sam's nod before reaching up to thumb his chin.

"I know you know what to do, show me. When you've deposited the body you come back here and wait for me. Do not shower. Do not touch yourself. I shall be back as soon as I can. Are we clear?" Dean’s held his voice steady; his tone suggesting the consequences should Sam disobey him.

"Yes, Dean." The name was like syrup in Sam's mouth, he decided right then to savor every time he was allowed to say it. Sam repeated everything in his mind, made sure he knew exactly what was expected to him. He couldn't help leaning his hips towards Dean's one last time as he bit down hard on his bottom lip. Dean might not _want_ to kill him, but he was _going_ to kill him.

"Hmm," Dean hummed for a moment, unable to resist forcefully shoving his hand down the front of Sam's pants, capturing the man's firm cock in his hand and stroking two quick upward motions. "You just keep being a good boy and it's going to work out well for you." He tugged his hand free and crushed his lips to Sam's in a brutal kiss. "See you soon." He stepped away and turned his back on the man, heading for the elevator Sam had come up earlier.

Sam was doubled-over panting when Dean headed out of sight in the elevator. The taste of Dean's mouth was intoxicating and Sam sank to his knees for a few moments bending over trying to ease the throb in his achingly hard shaft. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to focus on the task at hand instead of the miracle of the other man's presence. For the first time in his life Sam didn't feel alone.

After a few minutes of deep breathing Sam clambered back up to his feet. He moved over to the young man and let his gloved fingers fall to his throat. His pulse was thready and weak, he was fading. Sam crouched down, he didn't want the man to be alone in his final moments - he'd given so much for this beautiful creation and this young man was the very reason that the Sea Glass killer had come to Sam. He was thankful. He stroked the man's cheek for a few minutes, checked his pulse and he was gone.

Studying all those crime scene photos meant that Sam knew exactly what to do. Retrieving the lidded containers he had set aside, he began by draining the blood from the plastic. He remembered each and every detail, leaving no sign that he'd been there. He had planned particularly well because this was his home, the warehouse. Sure, he'd purchased it through his trust fund so it would never be easily connected to him but he wanted to show Dean he had confidence in his process, that he wasn't the slightest bit worried about having a kill site two floors above him.

It took him over an hour to finish, and then he loaded the body and the debris into the elevator. He drove slowly through the country side. It wouldn’t do to be pulled over for any reason. That was why he was meticulous about his vehicle maintenance; he smiled certain that Dean would be pleased with him. He'd chosen a river that was a spill way for a large dam; weighted down with concrete the body would take weeks to even move and no one swam or fished there because of the damn. It was the perfect location.

Another half an hour passed and Sam was on his way back to his warehouse, humming softly, hair blowing in the cool evening air. He loved having the windows down at night. The night was welcoming.

He was back at his home in no time and sprinted up the stairs into the elevator, stepped out onto the spotless fourth floor and waited. He could wait for years if he knew that Dean was coming back.


	2. Chapter 2

The place Sam had picked to dump the body was perfect. This pleased Dean more than he anticipated. Every move that Sam made was precise, as if he'd spent hours picturing the perfect way to make everything happen. It served to make Dean curious. Why would someone go through so much effort to bring him here? Was it simply a kink the man had, a step above an obsession? Dean knew he needed to find this out, learn the truth behind the man’s actions. He had proved that he could kill- twice- but there were other limits Dean could push.

Once Sam was on his way back to the warehouse, Dean returned to his hotel and gathered his belongings. If things turned out the way he intended them to- _wanted_ them to- then the moment he left the city, Sam would be coming with him.

The idea of having a partner on kills was quite intoxicating. There were so many things they could do, lines they could cross. Dean shuddered in pleasure at the thought.

The drive from the hotel back to the warehouse was mile after mile of building anticipation. Dean considered all the things he'd like to do to Sam, all the things he'd always dreamed of doing with a man that he'd never been given the chance too.

It came down to a matter of how much Sam wanted it. How much he'd give away.

Dean opted for the window instead of the elevator, watching Sam in the area where the tarp had once been.

"Good boy," he murmured quietly and crossed the warehouse, pulling the blade from the strap on his leg. This time he didn't sneak up behind him and instead crossed slowly into the light, twirling the blade between his thumb on one hand, forefinger on the other. "So... Samuel Winchester." He breathed, eyes raking over the man's body. "You have done as I asked?"

Sam's eyes drifted to the knife. He had no idea what Dean would do with him now; he just knew what he _hoped_ beyond hope. He squared his shoulders and tilted his head - staring into those glorious green eyes. "I did exactly as you asked." Sam didn't move, just waited, swaying slightly. His legs were exhausted; he'd been standing since he'd arrived back, not wanting to risk any contamination that Dean might notice.

"Good," Dean nodded and walked in a circle around Sam's form, eyeing him with each step. "Where is it you live? I'm assuming this city is your home." He stepped in and ran the flat of the blade along Sam's chest, staring up into his face.

Sam raised his eyebrows, surprised that Dean hadn't already found out. "Two floors below. I own this entire building." The blade was cool, soothing; Sam's skin was so alive, he just wanted to be touched.

Blinking momentarily, Dean stepped back and gestured to the elevator. "Well that's convenient." He smirked. "Well, why don't you lead the way?" He gestured with the blade.

Hauling open the freight elevator doors, Sam gestured for Dean to step in then pulled the heavy doors closed. He pushed the button for the second floor and leaned back against the wall, hands behind his back. He looked Dean up and down, "are you staying here with me for the evening?"

"Yes." Dean nodded and didn't bother to ask if this was alright. Sam had practically begged for this, calling him out the way he had. He let Sam pull open the heavy doors as the elevator came to a stop and then he stepped out, scanning the room curiously.

Dean wanted to know all about this man but didn't have the faintest idea how to go about asking him. He was not the type to sit down and have a conversation with a person. With a shrug, Dean decided he'd learn the important things later on. Now there were more pressing things at hand. Turning, he crossed to Sam's bed and dropped down, spreading his legs and pointing at the space between them. "Kneel."

Sam crossed the room quickly and dropped to his knees between Dean's thighs. His throat worked frantically to swallow but his mouth was almost completely dry. He had no idea what to do with his hands, he wanted to touch Dean but had no idea if the other man even wanted that so he rested his hands on his own thighs, fingers digging into the muscle painfully hard allowing him something to focus on.

Chuckling slightly Dean leaned back on his hands, bringing his legs to rest firmly along Sam's folded body. "There are so many things I'd like to do to you," Dean said thoughtfully, dragging his tongue across his lips. "And some of them might-" He stopped and shook his head slightly. "Do you require some sort of word? To tell me when it's too much?"

Blinking up at Dean's face, Sam thought long and hard. This was one of _those_ moments in life. Everything from this point forward would be _after he answered_ , after his life changed, after he met Dean. A series of shivers rolled down Sam's body and he couldn't help leaning heavily against Dean's leg. "I -" he licked his lips, "I don't need a word." His eyes drifted closed, lips parted softly by his breath. "Whatever you want."

The words sent a jolt of thrill through Dean and he watched Sam for a long time. Until his still semi hard cock twitched as if to remind him what this meant. He bit down hard on his lower lip for a moment before saying softly but firmly. "Touch me."

Sam's eyes shot open and he glanced up at Dean. His long pale fingers slipped over Dean's denim clad thighs and he felt the man's muscles tighten under his touch. He massaged the tight flesh for a few moments then let his hands slide higher, until he reached the juncture of leg and hip. His fingers spread, moving to curl around Dean's hips, cupping the bone he could hardly feel through the denim.

Sam kneeled up, leaning in to slip the tips of his fingers under Dean's shirt; his flesh was fiery. The only sign that Dean was feeling as much as Sam was the light sweat that coated his body. His fingers splayed open, palms gliding up over Dean's abs, his chest, and Sam sighed out a small moan of pleasure. He grasped the t-shirt in white knuckled fists and looked up at Dean for permission to remove it.

Lifting his arms and letting the material be pulled up and over his head, Dean moaned softly. In the few brief times he'd allowed himself to have sexual partners, Dean had never allowed them to touch, had seldom even rid himself of clothes. It had been purely physical need, slamming someone hard against the wall and taking them fast and rough. He wanted Sam fast and rough but he also wanted him in every other way. He'd never experienced lips against his skin, the tight heat of a mouth around his cock. Slowly he pushed back on the bed. "Come." He whispered, spreading his legs for Sam to crawl between.

Shaking, Sam pushed up to his feet and crawled up the bed settling himself gently between Dean's legs. He held himself up with his arms, firmly planted on either side of Dean's body. Licking his lips, gaze locked with Dean's, Sam lowered his head slowly and pressed his lips to the center of the other man's chest.

He inhaled slowly, Dean's scent overwhelming him; sweat, spice, some kind of chemical and soap. Sam lapped gently at the dip in the middle of his chest, then lowered his rough cheek to Dean's flushed skin and grated his stubble against him. Sliding slightly to the side, arms shuddering from the strain of holding himself up his cheek brushed roughly over Dean's nipple, then Sam captured it with his lips; he licked and sucked, teasing the flesh hard, pulled back and glanced up at Dean's face.

A sharp gasp left Dean's lips as Sam's mouth moved around his nipple and he lifted his head just in time to look down into Sam's eyes.

Curling his hands in the man's hair he tugged him up the length of his body and crashed their lips together, working with his free hand to slip the still sliced material of the man's shirt over his shoulders and off to the floor. Dean could never remember a time when he lusted for a person so much.

The heat of Sam's chest against his own was exhilarating and Dean shoved roughly at him, breaking their kiss to roll the man over and straddle his hips. He rolled his hips down into Sam's slowly, head falling back with each pass over the denim. After a moment he dropped back down to hover his lips over Sam's and whisper, "What did you do with the blood?"

Sam's lungs had emptied when he landed on his back, his head fell back against the bed and he pushed his hips up into Dean, the warmth, the hard lines, he wanted him. He felt the breath from Dean's lips as he spoke and it took a few moments for the words to make sense to Sam. _The Blood_. He leaned up trying to press his lips against Dean's only to have him pull away. Sam groaned and let his weight fall into the mattress. His voice was soft, rough, edged with want, "I let it flow away in to the river." He licked his lips, eyes wide, pupils lust-blown. “I watched it just swirl away mixing in with the river water, like ink."

"Good." Dean nodded and rewarded him with a slow kiss, tongue parting lips to sweep in languid circles along the inside of his mouth. After a moment he pulled back and buried his head into Sam's neck, inhaling sharply. "I can still smell it. The blood. It lingers on your skin, sometimes for days." He pushed up off the man and rolled away, hands falling to his waist band before hesitating and glancing over him. "Undress me. Then undress yourself. I want to see what you look like." His eyes traveled down the long line of Sam's chest, settling on the bulge at his crotch and he wet his lips.

Sam pushed himself up to kneel again beside Dean's hip. With shaking fingers Sam struggled with the button on Dean's pants for a few moments then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again he popped the button and slowly pulled the zipper down.

He leaned forward over Dean's hips and slid his hands into the opening, pushing the rough material back. Sam's eyes were locked onto the milky flesh of Dean's stomach. He tugged the jeans down slowly, devouring every inch of skin that appeared in front of his hungry eyes.

Crawling backwards Sam tugged the jeans down to Dean's ankles and slipped to the floor. He grabbed the heel of each of Dean's boots and pulled them off, then slipped his socks off.

Impulsively, Sam leaned down and kissed the top of each foot right before he pulled the jeans the rest of the way off. Standing, Sam folded Dean's clothes meticulously and placed them beside his boots on the floor. As he turned to remove his own jeans his eyes moved over Dean's body fleetingly; it was all muscles, curves, angles and Sam's jeans were suddenly far too tight across his hips.

Taking a step back so Dean could see him clearly Sam toed off his boots. He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his socks and dropped them in his boots before standing again. Sam swore quietly under his breath as he fumbled with the button on his pants, desperate to get his clothes off quickly.

"Slower." Dean commanded, shifting to the middle of the bed and tucking an arm under his head for the best angle to gaze up at Sam. His free hand trailed down the silk of his chest, settling at his crotch. After a brief moment of ghosting his fingers across the dark curls, Dean circled his fingers around the base of his cock and slowly stroked up, squeezing slightly. "Try it again," he breathed as his palm slid down then up. "Just. Slower."

"Dean." Sam was trembling, and his eyes were pleading with Dean to make things easier. He felt the cool tendrils of anxiety coiling through his body. _What if he wasn't actually strong enough for this?_

He tried his button again, very slowly, pushing the small metal disk through the buttonhole. Sam's thighs were shuddering; the muscles felt weak and almost useless, his eyes were riveted to Dean's cock and the slow motion of his hand. _Fuck_ , he wanted those hands on him. Sam's hand moved slowly to lower his zipper; he made himself listen for every click before moving the zipper again. He twisted his hips forward as subtly as he could, pushing his stiff cock into his hand as he lowered the zipper.

The movement caught Dean's attention and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Sam?" He whispered though the words sounded firm. "I don't believe I ever gave you permission to grant yourself any sort of relief did I?" He waited to see the negative shake of the man's head before exhaling slowly. "You're never to do that without my say so. Now I understand I hadn't explained this properly, therefore your punishment shall be light." He considered this for a moment, idly stroking his cock as the ideas circled through his mind. After a moment he nodded and slid to the edge of the bed were he'd been sitting before. "Finish undressing and kneel before me." He spread his legs once more, shifting to lean back on his left hand behind him, wrapping his right once more around his cock and resting it there.

As slowly as he could manage now that his heartbeat was ratcheted up so high he could barely see, Sam pulled the zipper the rest of the way down. He slipped his hands over the scalding flesh of his hips and pushed his jeans down, an inch at a time keeping his eyes on Dean's face trying to ignore the hypnotically sensual movement of the man’s hand on his rigid flesh.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the dark denim was pooled around his ankles. Sam stepped out and bent to pick up his jeans, fold them and lay them to the side. Sam dropped to his knees so hard he hissed out a breath but quickly walked forward on his aching joints and kneeled, head down.

Dean was mesmerized by the long lines of Sam's body the moment they came into view and his cock jerked in excitement as his eyes settled on the man's crotch, cock stiff and erect.

As Sam came to kneel before him, Dean took a moment to regain his self control. The man needed to learn to obey him, to never do something without his permission. Giving in to the desire to touch and caress every inch of alabaster skin now would not cement the lesson.

"Watch," Dean instructed as his fingers continued their torturously slow drag across his weeping flesh. His thumb dragged along his slit for a moment before sliding back down.

Sam's eyes skimmed over Dean's hand, his fingers, and his strong hands. He did his very best to avoid looking at Dean's cock - the dark vein running along the bottom, the ridges, the slick pre-come on the head. Sam moaned, eyes flicking up to Dean's face and then back down again. He was shaking, his muscles tight, fists clenched tightly in his lap. Sam didn't dare move, if he could stop shaking he would, but the _need_ , the _desire_ , it had to leave his body somehow.

"Do you understand?" Dean moaned softly and let his head drop forward, gazing down into Sam's lust filled face. "That you must always have my permission?" The words were nearly impossible to get out around the hazy cloud building in his mind. He wasn’t going to last much longer, too over stimulated by the situation, but he knew this wasn't the way he wanted to come.

His thumb slid over the slit once more, gathering the small drop of precome. Lifting his hand he considered the liquid for a moment before leaning forward and shoving his thumb between Sam's lips. "Are we on the same page with this Samuel?"

Sam sucked Dean's thumb into his mouth instantly, tongue winding around it, lapping up the slightly bitter droplets. It wasn’t enough but Sam was nodding, moaning quietly around Dean's thumb, licking and sucking. Tears were pricking at his eyes and he slammed them closed.

"Good." Dean nodded and pulled back his thumb, reclining back on both his hands. "I want to come in your mouth, down your throat." He sank his teeth into his lower lip and watched the play of emotions across Sam's face. "For our first time, I'd like it to be your heat that brings me to that edge." Rocking his hips back slightly, Dean's eyes fluttered as the intense desire to grab Sam's hair and shove him down into his crotch consumed him. "Now. Suck me."

Only a few seconds passed as Sam tried desperately not to come right there, kneeling at Dean's feet. He'd never been so hard, so turned on by anything or anyone in his life. He moved quickly to the bed sitting beside Dean's hip, careful not to let his own aching cock touch _anything_. He didn't want to be made to stop, not for something as simple as his own pleasure.

He leaned down quickly and breathed out on the head of Dean's cock and then parted his lips, swallowed and moved his lips down over Dean's shaft. As soon as his lips touched the hard, silky flesh Sam half growled - half moaned deep in his throat. It was perfect, the taste, the sensation - everything. He knew his own cock must be red and weeping, it ached so much it almost hurt, but still, he wouldn't let his burning flesh touch anything.

He lowered his mouth all the way, gagging slightly, pulling back and then sucking Dean down as far as he could. Sam nestled his nose in the rough curls at the base of Dean's cock inhaling his musky scent.

The burning heat of the inside of Sam's mouth was nearly too much and Dean had to restrain himself from thrusting upward in eager need. For a moment he thought of trying to reposition them so he could grasp Sam and relieve some of the tension he knew the man must be feeling but the thoughts quickly scattered when the tip of his cock brushed the back of Sam's throat.

His hands wove through the man's hair, nails digging into his scalp. "Sam," he gasped as his eyes slammed shut and he fell back onto the bed, unable to hold himself up any longer. Dean's hips moved in slow circles on the bedspread, writhing beneath the man's lips as moan after moan worked its way out his mouth.

He'd been dancing around the edge for too long and his orgasm was no longer possible to fight back. "Shit," he hissed as white hot jets of pleasure washed over him and he came into Sam's mouth with rapid upward thrusts, fingers secured in the man's hair, holding him and place to ensure he swallowed all of what was offered to him.

Sam whimpered softly, his tongue wound around and around Dean's shaft. The sweet sounds Dean made went straight to Sam's cock, it twitched and throbbed and still Sam lapped greedily at Dean's release. Finally, needing air, he pulled back a little, sucking his way slowly back up to the head of Dean's shaft.

Sam kissed the tip and lapped at it for a few moments, making sure it was perfectly clean. Sitting back on his heels Sam licked his lips and waited, shaking, a tear escaped the corner of his eyes. It took every ounce of willpower he had to sit still, to refrain from touching himself.

Shifting himself on the bed was harder work than Dean anticipated. His entire body felt weak and spent but he managed to slide his head up to the pillow and stretch his legs across the mattress.

His eyes lingered on every inch of Sam for a long moment before he patted the space beside him. "Come here." A slow smile worked its way across his lips as he shifted to make room for the man. "I think it's time I reward you for being such a very good boy."

Crawling over to Dean's side, Sam almost wilted onto the mattress. "Thank you," he whispered.

Dean hummed as he rolled onto his side and began pressing soft kisses across Sam's skin, scooting his body further down the mattress with each one. He stopped at the sensitive flesh below Sam's nipple and bit down hard, forming a brief ‘o’ and sucking the skin into his mouth until a purplish bruise remained when he pulled back.

It was obvious Sam was rapidly reaching his limit so Dean made quick progress down the rest of chest, positioning himself between the man's spread legs. "I give you my permission to come whenever you'd like Sam," he breathed before opening his mouth and sliding down onto the hard flesh a few inches, tongue working along the head, dipping into the slit. Relaxing his jaw he dropped lower until nearly all of Sam was in his mouth and his free hand could move down to cup at the man's balls, rubbing them roughly into his palm.

Sam's body was on fire, every movement, every touch of Dean's lips, his teeth – it all melded into one long stream of sensation. He was shaking so badly he could hardly stay still. His body arched up into Dean's mouth, and room swam before Sam's eyes.

He heard the honeyed tones of Dean's voice but the only word that ran through his mind was _come_. Sam's chest constricted, his lungs holding in the air he had, hips stuttering up into Dean's warmth and when he felt the heavy rub on his balls Sam cried out and felt his orgasm shoot through his body, uncoiling like a viper from within his belly.

His hand flew to Dean's head, tugging on his hair gently moments before his cock pulsed painfully and his body almost jack-knifed up. Hot liquid pulsed from his cock, and Sam's vision dimmed to white at the edges.

Riding out Sam's orgasm was well worth it and Dean swallowed up every drop, enjoying the salty, musky taste floating across his tongue. The movements Sam made were so intense Dean found himself marveling at the stirring in his cock as he sucked along Sam's flesh until there was nothing left.

Smacking his lips slightly, Dean crawled back up the bed and fell down onto the pillows, soft sigh falling from his lips. He slipped a hand under Sam's shoulder and pulled him close against his body. "Mine." He said softly and the word sent a warm tendril through him. Dean very much liked the idea of Sam belonging to him, his to keep. "Sleep," he whispered and dropped a chaste kiss to Sam's lips.

Sam moved as close as he could, soaking up Dean's warmth and strength. Closing his eyes, he let Dean's voice drift repeatedly through his mind, _mine_. He'd never been anyone else's and never would be; Sam already knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Feeling almost shy, Sam let his arm slide over Dean's chest, tightening his hold. "Yours," he whispered as sleep over took him.

-=-=-=-

The sun had only just risen when Dean woke several hours later. For a moment he was disoriented and he blinked several times to clear the sleep from his eyes. Glancing down, his eyes landed on Sam and he studied the man silently for a long time.

Flashes of the night before came back to him slowly and a wicked smile played across his lips. Dean had lived the same type of life for so long, it was exhilarating to consider a different world where he wouldn't be alone all the time. A world in which he could share everything. And Sam was _his_ to do with as he pleased. The thought alone sent pleasure curling through him and Dean felt himself grow hard.

Sam seemed peaceful and Dean decided to indulge him, climbing quietly out of the bed and pulling on his jeans. The warehouse floor Sam lived on was one big open area and Dean made his way across it slowly. There was a pile of pillows on the floor under the window and Dean contemplated the view for a few moments before moving on to the large computer desk he hadn't even noticed the night before. Dean was not very familiar with technology- never really bothered to learn how to use the stuff- so he didn't try to touch the thing, just in case. The desk was littered with various papers that Dean pushed around curiously. Some appeared to be emails, and he was just lifting one to read when an open book underneath caught his eye.

Setting down the paper, Dean lifted the book curiously and thumbed through it, eyes widening at each page he crossed. Article after article- some from magazines, from newspapers, and printed off probably from the internet- lined the pages, interspersed with neat, precise script.

Dean sank down into the computer chair, making himself comfortable as he flipped to the beginning entry and began to read. Obviously Sam had been following him from the very beginning, and the more he read, the more his heart lurched. Apparently Sam had been his longer than he ever would have guessed.

Rubbing his eyes sleepily, Sam rolled over, the images, tastes, sounds of the night before flooding back into his mind. He pushed himself up, bleary eyed and wondering briefly if Dean had just disappeared in the night. His heart thudded against his rib cage at the fear of being left alone again. It would kill him.

When he was finally able to focus his eyes he saw Dean's back and in Dean's lap - his journal. "No," he said, flipping back the covers and scrabbling around on the floor for his jeans. Tugging them up to his hips he padded over to Dean and reached out for the book. "It's mine. D-d-don't. Don't read that." He could taste the bile rising to the back of his throat. That book was _his_ , his mind, his heart. He'd poured everything into that journal - and it was never intended for anyone else's eyes.

Dean glanced up at him for a moment, closing the journal and bringing it to rest against his chest, under the flat of his palm. He didn't rise from the chair, simply stared up at Sam with challenging eyes. "Yours? But Samuel, everything that's yours is mine because you are mine." He gestured around him at the wide open space then back at Sam. "I would have thought you'd put that together. You're obviously very smart."

Sam ran his broad hand down over his face. "I just. Those are my. That's all the stuff that no one's supposed to know." He shrugged a shoulder, feeling like he was completely trapped. "It’s all the things that would make people hate me." He stared down into Dean's eyes, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and kneeled down beside the chair. Sam's shaking fingers curled over Dean's thigh, "please, I don't want you to."

"Hate you?" Dean chuckled softly and shook his head, reaching out to cup Sam's face in his palm. "Sam, I _kill_ , that is what I do. Who I _am_. And you're worried I might hate you because you're turned on by that? Because you want that? I don't think I could have anyone who wasn't fascinated with that part of me because it's all I know." He smoothed his thumb along Sam's skin and sighed, pulling back slightly. "We need to be on the same page here Sam. If you deny me this, if you don't allow me _every_ part of you, then I'm afraid this is not going to work and I will have to end things. Permanently." He stared down at the man to let the full meaning of the word register with him.

Sam's face blanched a little, his mouth falling open. He let his hands fall from Dean's thigh, there had never been any way out of this, not from the very moment he had seen the first article. He curled his arm around Dean's leg and rested his cheek on the man's thigh, closing his eyes. "Everything is yours." All the tension fell away from him in layers, his skin, his muscles, he relaxed and let go. _His_ , everything was _Dean’s_. Sam could just be, just live, just breath in and out, just be _Dean’s_.

Laying his hand across Sam's hair, Dean smiled and stroked his fingers through the silky locks. "Good." He slipped his fingers under Sam's jaw and lifted up his head, bending forward in the chair to brush their lips together softly. "See, I'm fully confident you can be such a good boy, you've proven it so much already." He nipped along the man's lower lip and pushed up from the chair, crossing to the area that had been fashioned into a kitchen. "Now what can you offer in the way of breakfast? I'm starving." He grinned over his shoulder at him.

Padding softly into the kitchen, Sam started moving around to retrieve what he needed; frying pan, butter, eggs, milk and a variety of things from the fridge that he thought would improve the taste of an impromptu omelet.

When he pulled out the cutting board and grabbed a knife, the flash of the blade made him smile and lean against the counter for a moment. He laid the knife down gently and put some butter in the frying pan and turned the burner on low.

"It'll be ready in about fifteen minutes, would you like coffee?" Sam's eyes were everywhere but on Dean's. He was unsure of himself, learning where he fit, learning how to behave. He hiked his jeans up to his hips and realized they were still undone; he zipped them up and did up the button. "I have beans I could grind some for you." He stole a glance at Dean from beneath his hair.

"Sounds good," Dean nodded, watching the play of emotions across Sam's features with a faint smile. The man was obviously nervous which amused him. His eyes skittered down to the knife for a moment before looking back up at Sam. "So tell me, how is it you've managed to make yourself this home? Obviously it must have cost quite a bit to make this place livable. Do you work?"

"No, well, yeah. No." Sam turned swiftly and opened the freezer door to get the coffee beans. "I research things, I'm a - I _was_ a writer. The money is family money. No love, lots of money," he said bitterly. He flipped the grinder on and off quickly then started the coffee pot.

"I don't have to worry about much - there's a trust. I... we," he glanced up hesitantly a smile fleeting on his lips, "we never have to worry about money." He turned his back to Dean and started chopping some vegetables, mixed the ingredients for the omelet and poured it in the frying pan. He turned and rested against the counter. "Am I allowed to ask questions?"

Dean thought about never having to worry about money and chuckled. "Hmm, to think I won't have to steal anymore, that's a relief." He nodded and rounded the counter and crossed to stand in front of Sam, spreading his legs to stand on either side of Sam's. Leaning forward slightly so their hips connected and he rested his weight just slightly on Sam, he nodded once more. "Yes. You can ask me any questions you'd like but I reserve the right to not answer them all. At least not right away."

The slightest touch and Sam's muscles started to shiver again; the night before so clear in his mind. "You ever done this with anyone else?" He couldn't meet Dean's eyes; they were scorching, deep, too much.

Dean slowly shook his head and trailed his fingers down Sam's chest. "No." He wet his lips after a moment and leaned forward to press a kiss to Sam's lips. "And I'm assuming you haven't either."

"No. Never. I - when I found you," he gestured vaguely in the direction of his journals, "I wanted to know you and then I wanted to make something for you." He pressed his hand to Dean's chest, fingers wide, palm flat - feeling the other man's heartbeat.

Becoming aware of the sizzling behind him, Sam wriggled out from under Dean, "Your breakfast." Grabbing the pan he shook it and then flipped the omelet, smiling slightly. "Where do you live?"

Stepping back, Dean watched Sam move. After a moment he cleared his throat and slipped his hand into his pocket. "I don't really live anywhere. I'm constantly on the move. It's easier to not settle down." He shrugged and moved to lean back against the other counter. "I stay in hotels in each city, or in my car if things are tight financially."

Sam flipped the omelet onto a plate, grabbed a knife and fork and set a place for Dean at the counter, pulling a stool out for him with his foot. "Here you go." He smiled. "How do you take your coffee?" Moving back across the kitchen Sam grabbed two mugs and waited, eyes down, staring at the coffee pot in his hand.

Dean crossed to the chair, dropping down onto it and wetting his lips. “Just a little cream is fine and thank you, this looks delicious." He grasped the fork and knife in his hands, instinctively spinning the knife between his fingers. He cut into the omelet, bringing a piece to his mouth and chewing slowly. "Wow, I'm glad you're a good cook. I'm used to microwave oatmeal for breakfast." Dean chuckled and considered Sam for a moment. "I’m making you nervous aren’t I? Are you worried I might harm you?"

"N - no." Sam put some cream in Dean's coffee and turned to slide the mug towards him. Turning back he made his own coffee with cream and sugar, stirring it absent-mindedly. "More scared I'll do something wrong, or that you’ll... leave."

Clearing his throat with a drink of coffee, Dean shook his head. "If you do something wrong I'll tell you, most likely punish you in some way, but Sam, I won't leave." He cut into his omelet as he continued to speak. "There is no leaving now Sam, you know who I am, you've seen my face. Do you really think I could let you go?" He looked up to meet Sam's eyes as he brought the piece of food to his mouth and chewed. After he swallowed a slow smirk pulled up his lips. "I'd kill you before that happened."

"Well," Sam took a sip of coffee letting the scalding hot liquid distract him from the green eyes boring into his soul. "That makes me feel a lot better." He moved forward and sat down opposite Dean, fiddling with his cup, spinning it on the counter top. "Can we stay here? Will I have to get rid of this place?"

"Hmm," Dean shrugged and considered the place for awhile. "You own this outright correct? No one knows you live here?" He waited for Sam to nod before sipping from his coffee and rolling the taste around his mouth. "There's no reason why you can't keep it. When we're in the area we'll have a place to stay. We can't kill anyone else here though, it's too risky." He worried his lower lip between his teeth. "Of course I wasn't planning my next piece for another month or two so until then -" He shrugged.

Sam's skin came alive at the thought of months with this man, until he heard the words he hadn't known, _truly known_. A smile tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth and he leaned down, sliding his arm across the counter, letting his fingers trail lightly over Dean's arm. "Until then? We can get to know each other?" He let the smile grow. "I'm sure you have a lot to teach me."

"I believe so." Dean nodded and tucked into his omelet for awhile in silence, considering all the things he'd like to teach Sam over the time. "Is there anything else you'd like to know? I mean, I'm sure there's lots you'd like to know and we'll tackle those things when the time comes but at this moment?" He finished the food and laid the fork on the plate, pushing it from him and bringing up the knife to run across his lips.

Sam thought for a few minutes, sipping his coffee, loving the burn of the hot liquid as he swallowed. "What would make you end this? What are the things that - what shouldn't I do?" He hoped Dean could understand what he was trying to ask. He wasn't sure if he could say the words.

Laying the knife against his palm, Dean thought over Sam's words for awhile. "Well, betrayal of trust." Dean said slowly, looking up to meet Sam's eyes. "Should you tell someone of me, even if you never mentioned my name. I've spent every moment since I left my family's home building up the secrecy around me. But don't worry Sam; I'm not going to kill you for disobeying the minor rules." He smiled and tilted the knife up, pricking his finger with it and sucking in a quick breath. "Sharp knife."

"I keep all my knives sharp, would you like me to sharpen yours regularly?" Sam stood and started cleaning the kitchen. "I could do that for you - I'd like-" _fuck_ he could feel himself blushing like a school kid. He turned to face the sink. "I would like it if you would give me things I could do, things that are... just for me to do." He bit down hard on his bottom lip and washed the frying pan.

Dean grinned widely at him. "Yes, I would like that very much. You can sharpen my knives." He nodded and considered what else he would like Sam to do. "There will be other things too. Like cooking the meals, trust me that's both for our own good." A faint chuckle fell from his lips and he reached out to bring his coffee to his lips, draining the cup and smacking his lips together. "You'll also play a role with our victims, but I imagine that will change depending on my mood. And of course there’s always my physical enjoyment, which should be your biggest priority."

Finishing with the dishes, Sam moved around the counter to Dean's side. "And today? Today we get to know each other?" He couldn't resist leaning against the other man's side, careful not to jostle his arm and spill his coffee. He wasn't sure if leaning counted as touching, or if he was allowed to touch him during the day.

Dean reached out and dropped his hand on Sam's hip, pulling him closer. "Today we get to know each other," he confirmed and looked up at Sam. "I don't know about you but I could really use a shower. I left my duffel bag up on the top floor by the window; will you go get it for me?" He caressed the skin above Sam's waistband for a long moment, left hand that still held the sharp knife coming forward to trace the unsharpened edge along Sam's chest. "And hurry back?"

Sam nodded and turned quickly to race up the stairs - not even bothering with the elevator. As he jogged he could still feel the cold metal against his flesh; this man was more than Sam had bargained for but he had a feeling he was going to enjoy every minute of trying to figure him out. He grabbed the duffel back quickly and jogged back downstairs, he smiled slightly when his eyes met Dean's. "Here you go."

Laughing, Dean pushed up from the chair and stretched, raising his arms high up into the air. "Well that was fast." He let his hands drop on Sam's chest and stepped into him. "I've been considering some basic rules. Especially where touching in concerned. Now we already know you're not allowed to touch yourself without my permission." He smirked at the memory, heat beginning to pool in the pit of his stomach. "But I do very much enjoy you touching me. So from this point on you're to touch me above the waist whenever you see fit and I will instruct you when you can go lower. Does that make sense to you?"

Sam didn't even bother trying to hide the fire in his eyes. He swallowed and smiled. "Yes." Leaning in Sam placed a tender open mouthed kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. "Does that count as touching?" He licked his way along Dean's bottom lip, finger sneaking under the hem of the other man's shirt, "Are there different rules for kissing?" He could feel the flush creeping up his neck and nuzzled into Dean's hair inhaling his scent and hiding his face.

With a soft groan Dean pushed forward to rock his hips against Sam's. "Hmm kissing." He considered it as his hands found a place along Sam's hipbones. "Well I am pleased by your kisses so I think I shall allow you to give them as often as you'd like." He grinned and slid his hands back to grab Sam's ass and squeeze. "Of course you know I expect you to always kneel at my feet when I'm sitting." He stepped back and studied Sam. "Shower?"

Sam reached out and slipped his fingers through Dean's, squeezing gently and tugged him past the kitchen to a door around the corner. One of the parts of the warehouse Sam had spent the most on was the bathroom. It was tiled in red clay with under floor heating. In the farthest corner was a built in shower with seats and three shower nozzles, the Jacuzzi tub in the front half of the bathroom was large enough for two.

Sam had grown up hating the fact that he'd never been able to fold his frame comfortably into a regular bathtub. He waited for Dean to take it all in and shrugged one shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the sensitive skin of Dean's wrist. "I like being clean." His lips twitched as he tried not to smile.

"I would say so." Dean nodded in awe, staring around at the large room. "Damn. I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like this." He wet his lips and turned to Sam, grinning. "So are we going to take a shower or a bath? That tub looks like a lot of fun." Dean stepped in to his frame, hands coming out to work at the button and zipper on Sam's jeans. After both were undone he stepped back without removing them. "I think I shall put you in charge of undressing. Always me first, you second, understood?"

Sam nodded then slipped to the side quickly and started the water flowing in the tub then returned to Dean. Remembering Dean's suggestion from the night before Sam slipped his long fingers under the edge of Deans t-shirt and ran them around the waist band of his low slung jeans. Smiling he leaned closer, widening his stance so his eyes were even with the other mans. Splaying his fingers out wide he ran them up over Dean's firm stomach, loving the way his fingers bumped over the curves of his toned muscles. He trailed kisses down Dean's neck as his hands pushed the shirt up, and then he gently tugged it up over Dean's head.

Sam stood back; admiring the man’s physique as he folded the t-shirt then stepped back towards Dean. Slowly he popped the button on Dean's pants, and dragged the zipper down, sucking gently on the other man's neck careful not to mark him. _Never without permission._

Using his broad hands to push the material away from Dean's hips Sam slid the jeans down feeling the flush move all the way to his cheeks when he realized that Dean wasn't wearing any underwear and that his attention had already peeked his desire. Kneeling Sam motioned for Dean to step out of his jeans, one leg at a time then stood to fold them.

"You, I like the - " Sam licked his lips and slowly undid the button on his own jeans. "The way your body looks, I like it." He pressed his lips together and stepped closer, fingers fluttering over his zipper for a few moments before slowly tugging it down, one click at a time. With each click Sam's desire was sent up a notch.

He let his lips fall to Dean's shoulder and the zipper was finally undone. "Your skin," he cleared his throat, voice thick with want, "it's soft, cool, like silk." Slipping his own jeans slowly over his hips, he stepped back. "Is it okay - if I talk about you uh, to you?" He snapped his jaw shut and stepped out of his jeans.

Dean took several deep, calming breaths. Itching to reach out and touch Sam everywhere he fought back the urge for the time. "I like to hear what you have to say about me." He nodded and turned to step into the tub, reclining back and nodding toward it with a look at Sam.

"Join me? And turn off the water," Dean suggested with a soft smile, shifting his hips over as he got comfortable in the overly large bathtub. The water was a notch above too warm and burned against his skin pleasantly. When Sam climbed in with him, reaching out to turn off the water quickly, Dean held out an arm to gather the man's body, bringing Sam's back to rest against his chest.

Another groan fell from his lips as his already hard cock pressed against Sam's back, falling into the crease of the man's ass. Dean's arms circled to the front of Sam's waist, fingers spreading open to trail down the skin. Dean tilted his head slightly to catch Sam's earlobe in his teeth, working the flesh for a long moment before releasing it and whispering. "Are you comfortable?"

"I. Yeah," Sam's hands floated at his waist. He had no idea what to do with them, and let them slowly sink to rest over Dean's legs. "I want to stay right here," he murmured, "but can I -" he groaned as Dean's hard shaft twitched against his ass and his body reacted almost immediately, writhing for a few moments. Sam let his head fall back, his question all but forgotten.

Dean's head fell back against the edge of the tub as Sam moved. "Shit." He hissed and rubbed his hands slowly along Sam's chest. Lowering his head once more, Dean sank his teeth into Sam's neck and bit down hard, working the tendons between his teeth. After a moment he pulled back and rubbed his hands lower, caressing the skin on either side of the base of Sam's cock, massaging the muscles beneath the heel of his palm. "So Sam, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? Why was it that I caught your attention?"

Head lolling gently toward the sound of Dean's voice, Sam's eyes fluttered open. His neck ached where Dean's teeth had left their mark and all Sam could think was _do it again, do it harder_. He moaned softly and slid his body up and down slightly knowing he was making Dean even harder. "I. What?" The steam from the water was filling Sam's lungs, sweat was beading on his forehead and he let his hips float into Dean's hands. "Touch me," he whined quietly, stretching his neck around to try and capture Dean's lips.

"No." Dean shook his head and instead slid his fingers to Sam's inner thighs, squeezing the muscles and rolling them against his palm. "I want you to answer my question." The words were tight with the pleasure that climbed through him and he tightened his grip on Sam's flesh, grinding the man back into his hard cock. Dean wet his lips and let them rest once more against Sam's ear as a moan fell from his mouth. "Why did you want me to come?"

"Ungh..." Sam's mouth fell open but nothing coherent came out. That voice right next to his ear sent shock waves through his body, his cock twitched with want as each word ended. "I wanted you. I just wanted you." Sam tried to turn his hips slightly wanting to press up against Dean's hard thigh. "Want you. Wanted you to come." He was muttering, heaving in breaths of hot steam.

A smirk pulled up Dean's lips and sank his teeth hard into the skin beneath Sam's ear, grinding them along the flesh. "Do you like that?" He whispered and let his hands pull up to form a circle on the skin right at the base of Sam's cock, twisting just slightly to create a little friction. He rolled his hips against Sam, taking in quick breaths to keep himself under control. "Do you like when I bite you? Or the feel of me against your ass?"

Sam cried out, the pain of the bite quickly fading to a sensual burn, "I do. Yes... I like it, yes." Sam whimpered, "I like both, yes." Sam's hips moved of their own accord, thrusting forward into Dean's hand. "S-sorry, I'm sorry, can't -" Sam wrenched his head to the side, tongue darting out to lick along Dean's jaw line. "I like it. I do.” Straining to reach, Sam let his hand tuck around his body to Dean's back, somehow knowing in the midst of his lust-addled state he was only allowed to touch Dean above the waist.

"Good." Dean swallowed thickly and once more shifted his hands, this time to Sam's waist. His fingers dug in tightly as he lifted Sam slightly in the water and slid the curve of his back up the length of his desire, groaning at the friction.

The water around them sloshed with each upward pull, downward slide. "Sam," he hissed as he rocked his hips forward, eager for more pressure. "Touch me." He insisted, releasing his hold on Sam's hips and falling back against the tub. "Don't care how. Just do it." He added and ran a hand down his chest, curling his fist around himself and sliding up along the slippery skin.

Sam whirled around skin spinning against Dean's slick flesh and let his body touch his everywhere, calves, thighs, cocks, chests. It was overwhelming and _perfect_. Sam let his body slide down a little, anchoring himself on Dean's hips then slowly slid back up again lips reaching Dean's and crushing against them. Tonguing his way into Dean's mouth he let his fingers curl hard into the soft flesh in front of his hip bones and slid his body back down, rubbing hard against Dean's.

Dean groaned and rocked forward into Sam, eager for more contact, enjoying the water sloshing around them. His teeth caught Sam's tongue for a moment before dragging across the muscle. Fingers came up to tighten in Sam's hair, holding him in place so he could thrust his tongue into Sam's mouth rapidly. Letting Sam continue to rock forward hard against him, Dean moaned into the kiss, yanking Sam's head back and dropping down to clamp his teeth in the flesh just below Sam's collarbone. "Sam." He growled with another thrust.

Sam's hands slid around Dean's neck and he floated up to settle himself on Dean's lap, "please," he whispered against Dean's lips, tickling, teasing with the slightest touch, "more." He let his head fall to the side, shifting so he could grasp both their cocks in his large hand while exposing his abused shoulder to Dean's mouth. "More," he muttered, sliding his fist slowly up and down their shafts, his hips jumping against his hand.

Moaning at the way Sam begged, Dean repositioned himself, sliding back enough from Sam that he could force a hand between their hips. His arm was stretched, hand bent, almost painfully, but it was worth it when he managed to slip his index finger up Sam's tight muscle roughly. A hiss fell from his lips as Sam's tight muscles clamped down on his finger. "Have you ever touched yourself like this before? Or had someone else touch you here?"

Falling forward heavily against Dean, Sam's head was shaking, "no... never." He sucked on Dean's bottom lip, his free hand running up into Dean's soft hair. He squeezed their cocks tighter together moving his fist slowly, up and down, dragging his fingers over the smooth flesh as his spine arched back almost painfully. "No.” His lips crashed against Dean's his heart throbbing and jumping in his chest; he tried so hard to be quiet but moans, sighs, small sounds kept bubbling up out of his throat.

A heavy groan fell from Dean's lips as he worked his finger in Sam's tight hole, pulling back after a moment to roughly shove in a second finger and scissor the muscle. Just the idea that he was the first to touch Sam like this made his heart reach a whole new level of speed. "That's good." He breathed as he thrust up into Sam's hand around him. "Shit Sam." Dean slammed his eyes shut as he worked his fingers quicker inside Sam, hips struggling up for _more._

The rhythm of Sam's hand faltered, his ass clenched tight around Dean's fingers and he leaned back; he ground down onto Dean's fingers and stared into the man's eyes from under heavy lids.

Sam's hair clung to his face in wet strips, his body shuddering under the effort of holding back his release. "Dean..." he licked his lips and slowed the movement of his fist, twisting his wrist slightly and pulling his painful shaft out of his fist. He moved so his cock floated free, not touching anything, trying to wrestle back his control.

"Get yourself off," Dean insisted, panting with the effort he was putting into thrusting his fingers up into Sam. The angle was too difficult for him to slide a third finger in so he focused on twisting the two; seeking the center of pleasure he knew was waiting. His eyes leveled with Sam's and he repeated his words, growling them more than speaking. "I want you to wrap your hand around yourself. And get yourself off. Now."

It only took Sam a moment to comply; he slipped his fingers around his aching hardness, hand slipping easily up and down in the water. Forward into his fist, back onto Dean's fingers, his breath came in ragged gasps, heart racing. As his head fell forward onto Dean's shoulder, hand still moving quickly he murmured softly, "so good, Dean. l love your hands on me. In me."

His orgasm was upon him so quickly he had no warning. He felt the familiar tug of tightness in his balls, white heat uncoiling in his abdomen and it was there. He cried out softly against Dean's ear, open mouth rubbing down Dean's neck as Sam's cock pulsed into the water, his ass grabbing tightly onto the fingers still teasing his muscle open.

Pulling his fingers free from Sam, Dean moaned slightly and wrapped his hand around himself. Seeing Sam come like that- his words still working their way through him system- was enough to help him quickly to the edge. A dozen or so sharp tugs on his cock later and Dean's eyes were squeezing shut as his own orgasm shot through his system.

"Jesus Sam." He moaned loudly as he came, hips thrusting up with each wave of release. His body shook from the pleasure as he relaxed slightly against the tub, pulling Sam with him. He waited until his breath returned to normal, hands curled around Sam's body, before speaking again. "I think we're going to need an actual shower now that our bath is done." He chuckled softly. "This time just to get clean."

Sam smiled his body boneless and weak. After a few deep breathes he took advantage of Dean's amiable mood to slip closer and run his hands down his chest and sides, exploring his body slowly. "You're beautiful," he said then closed his mouth quickly.

Sam had spent so little time with people, let alone someone he had wanted so badly and for so long; his mind was overflowing with things he wanted to say but he felt like the words just got jammed somewhere deep inside him. "I could wash you. In the shower I mean," Sam looked down, "if you want."

Dean nodded quickly, tucking his fingers under Sam's jaw and bringing his eyes up to meet his. "Yes. I would very much like that." He wet his lips and leaned in to crush their mouths together.

They kissed slow and languid for a long time, Dean dragging his hands through Sam's hair and holding him in place. Finally the water around them was starting to cool and Dean pulled his swollen lips back, smacking them together softly. "Shower now. I think my legs can hold me." He smirked and pushed Sam back, standing up to climb out of the tub and holding out a hand to Sam.

Yanking himself up out of the tub, Sam spoke softly, "just one moment." He slipped back to start the tub draining then padded over to the wall panel and punched in a code. "The shower is programmable. I use 137," he looked down shyly, "I can make one for you later if you let me know how you like your shower." Sam pushed the door open and they headed in to the shower.

Sam took more care washing Dean than he'd ever taken with anything before. It was his time to learn Dean's body, understand all the curves, the _art_ of him. He was gorgeous, well-built and obviously worked out regularly so Sam made a mental note to tell Dean about the gym he had set up on the third floor.

It was a kinder, gentler Dean who leaned on Sam's shoulders as the taller man kneeled to rub a washcloth over each of his legs. They spent a long time in the shower, Sam soaked up every moment taking advantage of each touch and every movement.

Later, physically drained, dressed in clean clothes Dean sat on the couch with Sam kneeling at his feet. Sam had cut up some fruit and brought it over for Dean, leaving it on the table in front of him then settled on his knees at Dean's feet, slightly damp hair still sticking to his face and neck.

Dean leaned forward to grab a piece of fruit, popping it into his mouth and dropping his other hand down to stroke idly through Sam's hair. "You've done a good job getting this place set up. If I ever felt like having a home, this would be a nice place for one." He shifted to get comfortable, spreading his legs to either side of Sam's body. "Do you have family here? Friends? Tell me what it is you do."

"May I sit instead of kneeling?" Sam shifted uncomfortably.

Dean snorted with laughter and nodded. "Alright that sounds fair. When we're relaxing you can sit instead of kneeling. So now are you going to answer my questions?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," Sam swallowed, anxiety drifting through his body. "My parents died years ago when I was young. They were in a plane crash." Sam's finger slipped around Dean's calf seeking comfort, then withdrew quickly. "Sorry, I forgot." He looked down.

"I - they were wealthy, my father was an architect, and left me a great deal of money and property. With the exception of this place I sold most of the property. My money is in a trust fund I set up after my parents trust expired. It keeps my money anonymous and untraceable."

Sam pushed his hair back from his face, "I have no friends, some on-line acquaintances but they have no idea who I am. It's how I find out things, research." Sam looked up at Dean's face, "Before today I spent most of my time studying you, learning, watching, waiting for you to create again. Now, I suppose, I do whatever you want me to."

"Yes, you'll do as I want." Dean nodded in agreement and continued to stroke through Sam's hair. "What is about me that attracted you? It's not a normal... life path." He mused quietly.

Sam leaned into Dean's touch, head tilting slightly and shifted off his knees to lean against the couch. "The first time I read about you it was like something in me came alive. I knew that I wanted to see what you had done. I have sea glass." Sam smiled and leaned back against Dean's leg, testing the boundaries of his rules. "I used to collect it with my mother when I was very small, it's funny I remember her hands, but not her face sometimes. It's frightening - not to be able to remember someone's face." He blinked himself back to the question at hand, "Once I started keeping the articles about you, I felt less alone; as though there might be someone in the world who felt the same way as me."

Dean fell into silence for awhile, considering Sam's words. The idea of them having a connection before they even met was almost too much to hope for. Though Dean had always harbored a secret thought that everyone was made for a greater purpose. Even the people whose lives ended at the tip of his blade.

When enough silence had passed that Sam was shifting back and forth curiously- or maybe anxiously, Dean hadn't quite learned to read Sam yet- he spoke, "Are there... would you like to know some things about me? You can ask." His hand stayed tangled in Sam's hair, holding him there.

"Do you have family? Any friends? People that you see sometimes?" There'd been no reprimand so Sam let himself lean heavily against Dean's leg, soaking up his warmth, feeling safe.

Flashes of memories crossed through Dean's mind and he found himself chuckling. "A person in my position doesn't have friends. Or people that I see sometimes." He shrugged and let his head fall back on the couch. "The only conversations I have with people are those I have with the people I kill. Though that's not so much a conversation as it is me speaking at them. And well then. You." Dean enjoyed the feel of the silky locks beneath his fingers but he withdrew them before he spoke again. "My parents are also dead."

Sam looked up seeking Dean's eyes. "What happened to them?"

"My father killed my mother." Dean said simply, staring at the wall and not looking down into Sam's eyes. "When I was eleven we got into a car accident, he was driving. The roads were icy and they were fighting when it happened." He fell into silence as he worked his fingers through Sam's hair, holding him in place as their eyes finally locked. Dean slid forward slightly to whisper the words between them like the secret they were. "And when I turned eighteen, my father became the first person I killed."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's lips parted softly, eyes widening. _The beginning_ , right in that moment. Sam rocked back and forth ever-so-slightly, excitement creeping through his body. His shyness forgotten he leaned towards Dean's body, hands slipping around his calf, fingers gently massaging the muscle there. "And the sea glass?" His eyes were sparkling in the sunlight flooding in through the window. "Why the sea glass - I mean - I understand partly, it's like a token, a signature. What did it mean to you?"

"The sea glass." Dean wet his lips, his own excitement growing. He'd never spoken of these things to anyone and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to tell Sam everything. "Lots of reasons really. We used to collect it when we went to the beach. My mother used to pull me into her arms at night and tell me how God made my eyes to look like sea glass. And when she died, I left a piece of glass in her casket before they buried her. It seemed fitting that when I killed my father, he should go with a piece of glass too. And then everyone else from there."

 _Just like my Mother and I_. Sam took a deep breath, "your eyes _are_ like sea glass." Sam's fingers slowly worked the hard muscle in Dean's calf and he switched to the other leg, hoping he was bringing Dean some enjoyment. "Do you miss your Mother?"

"Occasionally." Dean nodded and released his grip on Sam's hair, fingers trailing down the side of his face. "Sometimes I go months and months without thinking about her. Sometimes she's all I think of." He shook his head. "Do you miss yours? Your family?"

"I do. I miss the... gentleness of my mother." Sam smiled sadly, tugging gently on Dean's foot he pulled it onto his lap and started rubbing the bottom with his thumbs. "My mother was the love in our household. My father - he was cold."

Sam didn't want to talk about his father; he'd never spoken to anyone about him and never would. Some things were better left alone. "My mother used to take me for a walk almost every day, and she would read to me. Not from children's books about Princes and witches, but from adult books; her favorite was _Jane Eyre_. She said everyone should read it and know that there is someone in the world for them. We all have another half."

Dean laughed. "The fact that I have read Jane Eyre surprises me for some reason. But it's a nice thought, if you believe it. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't know." He sighed and shook his head as if to rid himself of doubt. "I figured I would always travel this world alone. Why would anyone desire to be with me? No one can appreciate my life, my art, the way I _am_. I can look back on my life before I first drew blood from a person and I was not complete. Now though, it's all I know."

"You don't believe I'm meant to be with you?" Sam placed Dean's foot back on the floor carefully and sat up.

Watching the action with a slight frown, Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he spoke. "Before yesterday Sam, I never even allowed myself to entertain the _idea_ that there was someone out there meant just for me." He leveled his gaze with Sam's and tried for a slight smile. "And had you never called for me, I never would have known. I have been on my own for a long time Sam. In fact I think I can count the actual conversations I've had with people that I wasn't about to kill over the last ten years, on one hand." He reached out to pat his lap, sensing he needed to reassure the man even more if the trust was going to continue to be built between them. "Come sit here for awhile."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip and climbed up to straddle Dean's thighs, tucking his body in close. "I forgot. I mean-" He let his fingers thread through Dean's hair gently. "I feel like I've been getting to know you for a very long time - because of my books, the photos, the things I've collected." Sam leaned in close, tucking his hand in between them palm down on Dean's chest. "I've been _with_ you since the first time I found an article about you." He smiled against Dean's neck, "I'm sure I can learn to be patient, and anything else you want to show me. People say I'm very smart."

"I believe I said you were smart," Dean chuckled and tilted his head to grant Sam more access. "I know you'll learn patience given enough time. I plan on teaching you everything." He laid his hands on either side of Sam's face and brought him up so they could lock eyes while they spoke.

"I looked at the crime scene photos, of the first body you left, and your skill is undeniable. You were able to copy every cut and according to the autopsy report you even allowed an adequate span of time between each one. I can tell from the precision of those cuts that you were focused, that you enjoyed it, but you still have much to learn." He brought Sam forward and kissed his lips.

"I will teach you why we press harder on the blade when we drag it over certain areas, and where those areas are. Which sections of skin should have the shallowest cuts to be the most aesthetic. I will teach you how to make a kill last a week with short little cuts, or how to make it end in less than five hours just to see the blood bubble so deliciously along ivory flesh." He was panting slightly by the time he finished the words and he laid his hands on Sam's upper thighs, massaging roughly.

Nodding, Sam licked his lips, "I want to learn everything." His fingers curled over the tensed muscles in Dean's biceps, "will you ever-" his eyes darted down to Dean's lips, his mouth - so soft and silky, hot - "use your knife on me?" His fingers tightened briefly.

The thought alone sent spirals of sharp desire through Dean and he sucked in a sharp breath. He would be lying if he said the thought hadn't already crossed his mind several times he couldn't help wondering if Sam would cross that line. If Dean would even let him have the option _not_ too.

"Yes." He settled for the truthful answer because it was important to build this trust between them, and Sam did have a right to know what would come some day. He didn't ask if it was okay, didn't give Sam an out, just waited to see his reaction.

Sam's breath stuttered to a halt in his chest, hazel eyes burning into green. The muscles in his belly quivered as he leaned forward to press his lips against Dean's. His eyes fluttered closed and his tongue darted out to lick Dean's mouth open sucking his bottom lip gently them nipping it. Pulling away slowly he smiled, fingers white-knuckled on Dean's arms. "I'll be looking forward to that." His voice was honey and coal, he tried to catch his breath and slow his racing heart he leaned back against Dean's chest and returned his head to the older man's shoulder. "Were you lonely ever?"

Dean allowed himself a few moments to calm down after Sam's words and touches. His mind was still occupied by how much he couldn't wait to use his blade on Sam's pale skin. Finally he considered Sam's question and slowly nodded. "I am. Lonely." He nodded and looked at Sam for a long moment. "Or I was. I'm sure you can understand how it feels, when it seems like no one could ever understand you. And traveling all the time, always watching people from a distance..." He trailed off and shrugged. "Were you ever?"

Running his thumb over Dean's collar bone Sam sighed. "I've been lonely a lot. I think it's worse when I'm out and there are people all around me, laughing, holding hands, fighting - it always made me think that I was fucked up some way. Chad says that everyone feels that way sometimes, he-“

Stiffening at the name, Dean laid a hand flat on Sam's chest and pushed him up, eyes narrowing. "Chad?"

Blinking into Dean's eyes Sam's brow furrowed. "He's just one of the people that I talk to online sometimes. He - he's found me information sometimes." He tilted his head to the side and leaned back in, fingers rubbing small circles on Dean's chest.

Shoving him back once more, Dean inhaled sharply to try and control the bubbling intensity of his sudden anger. "You _know_ him though. He knows your name? He knows what information you've been looking for. Sam. Does he know where you live? The city?"

Rubbing his chest where Dean's hands had shoved so hard, Sam's eyes narrowed in confusion. "No. I-I didn't get information about you from Chad. He's just a friend - not even - I've only seen a picture of him and that could be anyone." Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "It's nothing." He slid off Dean's lap and sat on the end of the couch.

Dean stared at him challengingly, wondering how long it would take for Sam to realize his mistake.

Sam thought about sitting there, waiting it out. Instead, he took the middle ground and stood, bending in front of Dean to pick up the plate of fruit. "Do you want any more of this?" He paused.

Pushing from the couch, Dean shoved past Sam and crossed the room to the computer desk, tossing a curt, "No," over his shoulder before dropping in the computer chair. He stared at the machine in front of him for a few moments, considering how to turn it on, but gave up quickly.

Instead he started sorting through the papers on Sam's desk, trying to find something that would offer some information about this _Chad_. This would not do, Sam having connections with people, even if it was only on the internet. There was no telling what this man might know about Sam, what he might have found about Sam without the man even knowing it. His fist came down hard on the wooden surface. "Fuck."

Sam put the plate back down on the coffee table quietly and walked over to stand behind Dean. Slipping his fingers over Dean's shoulders he rubbed gently. "Do you want me to find something for you? What are you looking for?"

Dean shrugged him off and picked up a stack of papers, shifting through them. "This can't happen Sam. You can't have some friend who knows you, anything about you. Not now that I'm here. And obviously there's something between the two of you because you felt the need to keep him secret from me."

Dean pushed off the chair, tossing the papers on the desk. He crossed back to the kitchen where his duffel bag sat and sorted through until he pulled out his favorite blade, seeking comfort in the way it felt between his fingers - cool and reassuring.

"Chad doesn't know anything about me except my first name. He thinks I'm a computer tech support guy who works in New Jersey." Sam leaned against the desk chewing on his thumbnail. "I didn't keep him secret - I just forgot – I - you can't seriously think that with everything that happened yesterday I was thinking clearly. Did you ask me about friends or something?" When Sam had begun talking he was behind Dean and now he was talking to his back across the room as he searched his duffel bag. "I... I maybe just misunderstood. And - I don't _know_ Chad." Sam chewed his thumbnail again, eyes fixed on Dean's back. "Don't leave."

Dean turned to him, taking slow, steady steps toward him. "I asked you about your family and _friends_ just a few moments ago, there," he swung the blade toward the couch. "I simply think it's a miscommunication." He stepped toward Sam, rolling the handle of the blade across his fingers. "Tell me Samuel, what other things are you keeping from me?" He crowded in on the man's space, laying the flat of the blade along the warm flesh.

Dropping his hands to his side Sam shook his head. "Nothing - I told you everything you asked." His hand moved up to Dean's waist, "I swear, I just forgot about him - he's no one."

Considering the shiny steel against Sam's flesh, teeth digging into his bottom lip, Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. "He's not _no one_. He's a problem that we'll have to fix someday." He slid the sharp edge down Sam's chest, barely breaking the skin so just the faintest hint of blood reached the surface. His eyes flickered back up to Sam's and he stepped impossibly closer. "Do I scare you now? Do you realize I could kill you, right here, and you'd never be able to stop me?”

Sam relaxed back against the desk wincing slightly then leaned _in_ to the blade pushing it further into his skin. "I'm not scared of you, no; I'm scared that you'll leave. If you want to kill me, kill me." He blinked, surprised at his own words. "I just don't want you to-"

Dean's lips were so close; Sam could feel his hot breath on his cheek. Leaning his cheek against Dean's, Sam pressed harder on the blade. "Just don't take yourself away from me. Chad is nothing. Nothing." He felt a tear slip from his eye, the cut was burning, the knife twitching in Dean's fingers painful and stinging.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath as the blood spilled over and down his blade, smearing onto his fingers. Heat flared through him and he stepped back, curling his fingers around Sam's arm and spinning him quickly to shove him against the wall, their hips grinding together. "I could kill you," he growled into the man's ear, flattening the blade across Sam's flesh and rubbing the coppery liquid into his skin.

"I could tie you up. Do you know what sort of lines I'd cut across you Sam? What patterns I would make?" He leaned in to bite down hard on Sam’s neck in the same area that was already bruised.

Pressing his cheek against the cool, rough plaster, Sam sighed out a moan. He could feel the blood on his chest, sticky and wet, and the pressure against the rough plaster was sending fiery pain through his flesh. "Y-you could do anything you wanted. It would be beautiful."

Sam's fingers reached blindly behind him and hooked through Dean's belt loop. The warm dampness spread down his chest and started to run into the front of his jeans, briefly Sam wondered how much blood he could lose from that cut... _before_. "Dean?" it was more plea than anything else, "Please."

Dean had reached the point where he either went down one path or the other - one might lead to the imminent demise of Sam, the other would stop this. He stepped back, releasing the man and letting the blade fall to his side then sucked in a sharp breath, reigning in his control.

"I need-" Dean turned and crossed to the kitchen, throwing the blade into the sink. "In my duffel bag you'll find an assortment of knives. I'd like you to clean and sterilize them all. Sharpen them as well. I need to go out for a little while." He curled his fingers around his car keys, eyes fluttering closed. Slowly he walked back to Sam and cupped the back of his neck, brushing their lips together. "I will be back." He breathed into the kiss. "Clean that cut, put a bandage on it. I'll check it when I return."

"Yes." Sam nodded already missing the feel of Dean's lips; he let his head fall back against the wall.

-=-=-=-

As soon as the elevator door slammed and the motor engaged Sam slid down the wall heaving in a lung full of air and clutching his hand to his chest. His chest was covered in blood, his head aching, stomach flopping.

He half crawled half staggered to the kitchen, hauled himself up using the counter and grabbed one of the clean hand towels and pressed it to his chest. It hurt, it really _fucking_ hurt but not nearly as much as watching Dean leave. Sam just had to keep reminding himself that Dean had said he would come back.

It took Sam half an hour to collect himself and bandage his chest. It took him well over an hour to clean and sterilize Dean’s knives. As the knives dried Sam began sharpening them on his flint. It was difficult, each movement of his arm jarred the wound on his chest and by the time he was finished there was a bloom of red in the middle of his bandage.

His eyes moved over to the wall clock, Dean had been gone for hours and tendrils of fear were starting to curl around Sam's heart. What if he didn't come back? What then? Sam left the knives on the counter, lined up, shining and stumbled to his bed. He curled up in the middle of the mattress and fell asleep.

-=-=-=-

Dean wasn't all that surprised to find Sam asleep when he arrived home. He'd actually been counting on it. Moving quickly he sorted through the bag of items, carrying it with him to the bed and gently rolling the man until he lay flat on his back. Sam was still shirtless and the bandage covering his cut was already soaked with blood. A sigh fell from Dean's lips, almost blissful at the sight. Slowly he straddled his hips, settling back and reaching steady fingers back to pull off the material.

The cut was still trickling blood and Dean took a large piece of gauze from his bag and held it against the flesh, soaking up the crimson liquid for a few minutes. Next he pulled out a needle, injecting it into the cap of the vial and filling the barrel with the clear liquid. Dean sank his teeth into his lower lip in concentration as he leaned forward and slipped the shaft under Sam's skin, thumb pushing down on the plunger until the barrel was empty. His eyes slid up to Sam's peaceful features as he dropped the needle back in the bag and rested his hand just above the cut. After a moment he pressed the tip of his finger against the gash and shoved down hard.

Sam didn't react. With a satisfied smile, Dean cleaned his finger with the gauze, once more wiping over the cut to clear up some of the blood, before digging back into the bag. Dean had never needed to know how to stop someone from bleeding so he read the package of adhesives carefully. They weren't stitches - which he wasn't even going to try to attempt - but they declared to work just as well. It was an odd type of cream that claimed to be able to seal the cut once applied and covered with a bandage. Sam was likely to have a scar, but the very idea pleased Dean so pulled on a glove and applied the solution.

Several minutes later Sam's wound was re-covered and he stepped off the bed, crossing the room to clean up after himself. Once everything was back in order and his supplies had been returned to his duffel bag, he moved back to Sam's computer desk and picked up the journal about himself. He settled in on the couch to read, falling asleep less than a half hour later with the book still open on his chest.

-=-=-=-

Sam's eyes were heavy when he finally woke up; he spent a while blinking at the ceiling and then _remembered_. He pushed himself up.

"Dean?" He called out louder than he'd meant to, hand fluttering to his chest. It felt strange; his skin was tingling a little like he had pins and needles. "Dean?" His voice wavered, eyes bleary.

Dean jerked awake, rubbing at his eyes as he stood and just barely catching the book in time. He headed over to the bed where Sam still laid, yawning loudly. "Right here. What is it? Are you in pain?"

Relief washed over Sam, "I didn't know if you came back ... or not." Sam rubbed his chest. "Feels weird." He scooted to the edge of the bed eyes glancing at the clock. "How long were you gone?" What he really wanted to ask was _where were you, what were you doing?_

Dropping down onto the bed, Dean reached out to finger the bandage, pulling it up to make sure the area wasn't bleeding. "A bit. I picked up some materials for your cut. And future cuts." He glanced up into Sam's eyes and reached out to push his hair back from his forehead. "Did you do as I asked while I was gone? Before you took your nap?"

Sam nodded, hand rubbing back and forth across the bandage. "I left them on the counter, cleaned, sterilized and sharpened." Moving closer to Dean, Sam looked up at him. "Is there anything else you need me to do?"

"Well it would probably be wise if I brought my car inside, people might see if and get suspicious." He grinned and shook his head. "But you're not driving her. You can tell me where to park her. Then food? You should definitely eat something. I don't know how that shot I gave you will affect you." He pushed off the bed and headed for his duffel bag to retrieve his keys.

"West side - there's an extra remote opener on the kitchen counter - I left it out for you." Sam's fingers were picking at the seam on the side of his jeans. "I'm not hungry."

"Alright you get started on some dinner for me and I'll -" He stopped for a moment and looked over at Sam. "If you're. If you don't feel alright, then you don't have to. I don't want you to get sick or pass out or something. So you know…" he shrugged, uncomfortable with how unsure he felt in this situation. "Well either way you should eat something." Dean scratched at the top of his head and shrugged. "Just forget it. I'll get my food. You continue resting, I'm gonna need you in good shape later on."

"I'm fine." Sam pushed up from the bed and padded into the kitchen. "I'll make pasta. Won't take long." He started the water boiling and got some pasta out of the cupboard. It was strangely normal - standing there in the kitchen, cooking dinner.

"Okay." Dean nodded and snatched up the remote Sam had set on the counter before heading toward the elevator and shoving the heavy doors open to step inside.

Sam smiled over his shoulder, waited for Dean to disappear in the elevator and moved quickly to the computer. He tapped the keyboard, as he sunk into the chair, knee bouncing nervously. Opening his email program he quickly his compose and started typing.

 _**Chad,** _

_**Don't email or phone. Will be in touch. Please - trust me. Don't worry.** _

_**Sam** _

He waited for the email to send then heard the elevator moving back. He pushed up from the chair quickly and returned to the kitchen fumbling in the kitchen for a jar of pasta sauce. As he listened to the elevator get closer he glanced at the computer and relaxed slightly as he watched the screen saver start. He was making coffee when Dean opened the elevator door.

Dean dropped his keys back into his bag and leaned against the counter, watching Sam with steady eyes. There was still a certain level of tension between the two and Dean considered the variety of things he could do to ease it. But then it occurred to him that he was most likely the one feeling it the most so he moved from his reclined stance and turned to inspect his knives. "These look good. Thank you." He nodded and picked up the biggest one- his favorite- and grasped it firmly in his palm, enjoying its familiar weight.

"You're welcome." Sam moved to stand behind Dean, slipping his hands under his arms and wrapping them around the man’s chest. He leaned his chin on Dean's shoulder. "I'm very glad you came back," and he was.

Sam had spent some horrifying moments earlier wondering if he had seen the last of the Sea Glass Killer. He should have realized at the time that Dean would come back for his knives but Sam was occupying an insane limbo. He had no idea who this man was, and yet, he had become completely caught up in him, his work, and his thoughts. His outburst over Chad had shocked Sam. Sam hadn’t thought that Dean would feel threatened by anything.

 _Chad_.

Chad had seeped into Sam's life. Emails, a few phone calls and soon - Sam had found he was looking forward to speaking to him. He was lonely; he had told Dean the truth. Chad had alleviated some of that loneliness. When he'd emailed Sam a photo, Sam had realized that they were too different, that Chad with his blond hair and blue eyes, perfectly happy smile - that man would never be happy with someone like Sam, someone with a taint inside him. Someone, who killed. He nuzzled into Dean's hair.

"I said I would," Dean said simply and turned in Sam's arms, laying his hand over the man's bandage. His other hand came up to cup the back of Sam's neck and drag him down into a deep kiss. He caught Sam's lower lip between his teeth and bit down as he pulled back, dragging the flesh out with him. Dean looked up to meet Sam's eyes and study him for awhile. "What are you thinking about?"

Sam sighed and pressed his forehead to Dean's. "How much I know about your work, how little I know about you, how tired I am, killing... killing with you." There were so many things running through Sam's mind; "How angry you were at me before, and... how you took care of me - well, of my chest." Sam pulled back a little. "What can I do to earn your trust?"

Dean had never needed to answer that question before and he squeezed the muscles along Sam's neck as he thought. "Have patience," he said softly but with a level of command that wasn't mistakable. It was a command, not a suggestion.

"Sam, I've only trusted one person in my life and she died when I was eleven. So, continue to do as you’re told, keep nothing secret from me, and with time, I shall trust you." He brushed his lips against Sam's before stepping back. "You will eat some pasta with me. Your body needs the food after the loss of blood."

Sam looked away, Chad wasn't a secret - he just wasn't part of this. Wandering over to the table Sam set out the food and settled in the chair across from Dean's. Sam pushed the pasta around on his plate; he hadn't eaten since the day before but his stomach was tied in knots. He was enthralled, he couldn't stop watching Dean; the way he moved, how his eyes moved over everything, the grace of his hands and their almost magnetic attraction to his blades. He was still studying Dean as he joined him at the counter, sliding smoothly onto his stool; still pushing his food around on his plate, still not hungry, still wanting Dean's hands on his body every moment.

"Eat something. At least a bite," Dean insisted, twirling the pasta around his fork and bringing it to his lips. He considered Sam silently as he chewed than swallowed. "I was reading more in your journal, before I fell asleep." He made Sam wait through another bite of pasta. "You had some very interesting thoughts about me. From what I've gathered, you've been following me for quite some time. Am I right?"

Pushing his pasta towards one side of his plate, Sam cleared a space to make it look like he had eaten and put his fork down. He took a sip of water; watching Dean's hands as he twirled his fork. "Yeah. Since the very first time I saw an article about you. Sometimes I got angry about the way some of the articles were written; they didn't understand and it was ridiculous they things they said." He laid his hands on the counter, palms flat, fingers tracing the subtle lines in the marble. "The more I read about you - the more I thought about you."

Chuckling softly Dean shrugged his shoulder. "I wouldn't expect them to portray me in a good light." He set down his fork and folded his hands together on the surface. "There will always be people out there who couldn't possibly understand no matter how you tried to explain it. Sadly that's the good majority of our society." Dean locked eyes with Sam for a long stretch of minutes, studying him because he felt he couldn't get enough of long shaggy brown hair and firm jaw lines. "When did you decide you would kill to bring me here?"

A slow smile grew on Sam's face. "When I found the thirteenth. They completely missed it - I found him." Sam couldn't help feeling some pride at his accomplishment. "Then I knew that I was, at least, good enough to meet you..." his voice trailed off. _Good enough_. As Sam looked at Dean's face he wondered if he would ever be good enough at anything. This was more complicated than he had thought it would be. He wasn't prepared for the authority and control - the power that radiated from the other man.

"You are." Dean nodded. "Just discovering the missing kill, well that's a big thing... but to kill." He worked his lower lip along the sharp point of his tooth and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sam, to think of you crossing that step for me. It pleases me. And I realize I might come off a little-" He shrugged. "Well regardless. What you did. It does affect how I feel about - why I'm here." He blinked slowly for several long moments before sighing and resuming eating his meal. "None of that makes sense I'm sure. But I thought it should be said."

"Dean?" Sam leaned forward withdrawing his hands off the marble counter top, staring at the fading handprints. "How do you feel about why, you're here? Why _are_ you here?"

Sighing softly Dean once more sat down his fork and pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. "I'm here because I've never _wanted_ to be anywhere else before. And the idea that you- that we could- it's never been like this for me before Sam. I pull away from society on instinct. Besides the people I've killed, you're the only person I've spent this much time with since the death of my father. And unlike my father, I'm not forced to stay with you. But I want to be here. I want to control you." He cut himself off quickly and pushed up from the table, gathering up his plate to take to the kitchen.

The words had quickened Sam's heart, his breath. He sat where he was for a moment. _Control you_. There were so many things that Dean hadn’t said. Sam closed his eyes and listened to Dean moving behind him in the kitchen. "Control. Will it ever be more than that?" Yeah, they met a day ago but Sam had spent more than a year wanting to be near this soul, wanting to learn from him, touch him, and... _control_ seemed like such a small word.

"More?" Dean ran water over the plate, setting it in the sink and turning back to lean against the counter. "I don't understand. You'll have to tell me what more you might like."

Sam turned slowly on the chair so he was facing Dean. "The other stuff." He looked down at his fingers, tangling them together. "Companionship, not being alone, wanting, just being here, love." The last word dripped off Sam's tongue like blood from a closing wound, thick and slow.

Dean tilted his head and crossed slowly to Sam, stopping inches from his frame. "Don't those things go together? Control. It's not you being my slave. It's you being my _partner_. Wouldn't all those things go with it? I can't promise how I'll be, and most likely it will take years for the word love to enter into it but..." He reached out to caress Sam's face. "You'll forgive me my coldness? Be assured that I do nothing lightly."

 _Years_. Sam leaned against the cool fingers on his cheek, giving a silent answer.

-=-=-=-

It took Dean a week to stop waking up with a jerk every time he felt Sam's warmth against him as he pulled out sleep. And he figured it was probably a good thing that he had never gotten into the habit of sleeping with a knife under his pillow or else Sam might have more than the one large healing scar across his abdomen.

Surprisingly it was fairly easy to allow Sam to do things for him, to _command_ Sam do things for him, and Dean found himself pleased with the developments between them.

Sam was always eager to please, up and across the room to make meals if Dean so much as glanced his way around the appropriate time; sitting at his feet in the evenings while they both lost themselves in the man's large book collection.

During the second week Dean decided that neither was going to shower or bathe without the other, he enjoyed it too much. Sam didn't seem to have any complaints about it so Dean figured it was a wise choice. Every time they stepped in the water and he pulled Sam close for slow, languid kisses, Dean felt the tension surrounding him fade slightly. Felt the walls built up in him slowly crumble for the man. The connection he shared with the man, even after only two weeks- hell, even after only a few hours- was the most intense thing he'd ever experienced. Even in comparison to killing, though on a different level.

By the time Sam had been in Dean's life three weeks, Dean was positive he could never go back to the life he had lived before. People would most likely always carry misconceptions about the type of person Dean was- that he was incapable of love, incapable of feeling for a human being- and Dean would never argue with them, though he knew now that he wouldn't agree.

Even if he never showed it, or only showed it in the vaguest ways that hopefully Sam was learning to read, Dean could feel the shift. The connection. And the desire to take the next step that they'd only been dancing around for the past three weeks was reaching an intense enough level that Dean could no longer ignore it.

Which led to this moment here, Dean waking in the middle of the night - Sam curled in on him, eyes fluttering with dreams - and slowly climbing off the mattress to gather the silk scarves he'd purchased a few days before just for this purpose. Silent in the darkness, well practiced in his craft, Dean tied Sam's wrists to the head board, followed quickly by his ankles. Once he was positive Sam would not be able to free himself, he moved back to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Earlier he had hidden a dull blade in the far back, knowing there would be no damage to Sam once he dragged it across the man's chest, but it would feel amazing.

Dean settled himself on either side of Sam's hips, nestling back against his crotch and leaning forward slightly to arrange the frozen blade, the real one, and a tube of lube on the nightstand. He considered the way he'd enjoy waking up Sam the most and settled on the frozen steel. Biting down hard on his lower lip to hold back his moan, Dean rested the dull tip of the knife on the skin right above Sam's right nipple and dragged down.

Sam awoke with a start, panic washing over him. "Dean?" He called out, his first thought that something had gone wrong; _I did something wrong._ It took a few moments of him trying to sit up before he realized he was bound, hand and foot to the bed.

As his heart settled into a more reasonable rhythm, sensations started to leak through into his consciousness. Sam kept his eyes closed.

The heavy weight of someone on his hips, silk ties _soft_ when he wound his fingers over them, then his chest jolted forwards - a burning pain - or - cold, he couldn’t tell... something hard flicked over his nipple and Sam felt it pebble in response.

"Dean," he whispered, then he stilled. He concentrated. There was soft cotton near the skin of his thighs, the smooth, graceful stroke of a ... blade? He wasn't sure. He inhaled deeply. _Dean_. He was sure of that. "Dean," Sam whispered twisting his hips up under the warm weight that pinned his torso to the bed. His long fingers wrapped over the silk that bound his wrists and Sam tugged hard. He wasn't going anywhere until Dean let him. Desire shot through Sam's body and he moaned, hips rolling, spine twisting; and then he stilled once more and waited... _patiently_. Blinking his eyes open he strained to see in the darkness.

Smirking, Dean continued trailing the cold steel down Sam's chest until he reached the man's waist band and he lifted up. Shifting his hips lower, resting on Sam's thighs, he pulled the man's boxers down slightly and pressed the tip of the dull blade hard against the flesh just above the downy hair.

"Are you going to be a good boy Samuel? Follow all the rules?" He whispered, leaning forward and spreading his body across the full length of Sam's until the entirety of his weight rested on him. He bit down on Sam's lower lip instead of a kiss and met his lover's eyes. "Obviously you won't be able to touch yourself," he chuckled and slid back down, considering the flesh beneath him. "I don't want to hear you talk until I tell you."

Nodding slightly, Sam's eyes were wide in the dark and focused intently on Dean's. His skin was buzzing everywhere Dean touched him even as he still shook off the dopiness of sleep. He licked his bottom lip after Dean let it go, tonguing the raised teeth marks and nodded again, more firmly.

Dean took his time tracing the flesh with the cool blade until it heated up and he lost interest with it. The entire time he'd been grinding down into Sam's crotch and now he leaned forward to snatch up the actual blade and crawled down Sam's body. A smirk worked its way along his lips as he caught the sharp point under the cotton fabric and dragged up. Dean savored the sound of the material tearing, running the blade centimeters above Sam's skin, so close he was sure the man could nearly feel it. When both sides were free he slid his hand along Sam's hard cock, squeezing once before grasping the fabric and pulling it off, tossing it to the floor.

Dean's hands caught under his boxers and he shoved them down to once more angle his hips along his lover's body, sliding hard forward as he dropped his lips to Sam's chest. A long moan fell from his lips and nearly growled against Sam's skin. "So good. My good boy. My Sammy." He exhaled slowly with another rock forward of his hips.

Sam's bottom lip was crushed between his teeth, a small trickle of blood running from it slowly. He was terrified to open his mouth, even to moan because once the sounds started - he knew - Dean's name would roll of his lips so naturally, like a prayer and he'd be done-for. There was no way, _no way at all_ he could stop his body responding.

He had felt how easily the knife cut through the thin cotton of is boxers - it was sharp, sharp the way _Sam_ had sharpened it; one of Dean's favorite blades. But, instead of fear - Sam felt - pride. Dean had thought about this, he'd chosen a favorite tool. He'd _chosen_ Sam.

His hips rocked up to meet Dean's then all the breath whooshed out of his lungs as he felt cool fingers on his hard shaft once more. Lifting his head off the mattress his eyes desperately sought the other man's, and then there were lips on his chest and that voice, rumbling low and heavy against Sam's belly, _your Sammy_. Panting, Sam closed his eyes, released his bottom lip and smiled, letting out a small moan.

Using Sam's already spread legs to his advantage; Dean positioned himself on the bed between them and smirked slightly. His fingers worked slowly up and down trailing along the inside of Sam's thighs. Snatching at the lube he'd brought over with the knife, Dean slicked up his fingers and shoved two inside the man at once, free hand coming to rest on Sam's hips to keep him from jerking to hard up into his touch.

"I'm going to take you Sammy," he hissed, bending his body down to dart out his tongue and run just the tip along the underside of the man's cock, swirling around the head before dipping into the slit. "I'm going to make you mine completely." Dean let his jaw drop down and sucked the man's flesh hard into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around his pulsing cock and sucking with another hard shove of his fingers into unforgiving heat. His body thrummed to be buried deep inside the man and it took all his self control to not slam into him, preparation or not. "Tell me it's what you want Sammy. Tell me how much you want it."

Small keening sounds flew out of Sam's mouth, every part of his body was on fire, rippling and cramping with desire and when Dean's hot, wet mouth sank down over his shaft again Sam cried out, wordless, just sounds.

Dean's fingers, forcing their way past the tight ring of muscle in Sam's ass just sent him over the edge. His cries were reduced to whimpering, his head thrashed back and forth on the mattress. Dean's question sank into his brain.

“D-Dean," his body was straining to touch the man above him, he licked his lips nervously, "I want you. I want you so fucking much. Please. Please." His voice trailed off, the muscles under Dean's warm body trembling with want.

The groan that fell from Dean’s lips vibrated around Sam's cock and he pulled both fingers back to add a third. Letting Sam's cock fall from his mouth with a smack of his lips, Dean snatched at the sharp blade and arched his spine backwards. Two quick strikes and the silk severed easily.

Dean's fingers scissor for a minute more before he pulled them out and lurched forward, blade dragging through the tethers connecting his lover to the headboard. Dean had intended this to be a much slower process but the sheer level of _need_ to be buried in Sam's tight heat was too intense.

Knowing they'd have plenty of time for games and teasing later, Dean tightened his hands around Sam's waist, sliding back and flipping the man over to kneel hands and knees spread before him. Dean moaned at the sight and kneaded one palm into Sam's ass, smoothing lube over his weeping cock with the other.

"Gonna fuck you Sammy." He growled as he positioned the tip of his cock against Sam's entrance and shoved in with one hard thrust, driving past still tight muscles until he was full sheathed and the curve of Sam's ass touched his hips. "God Sam," he dragged out the name.

Sam cried out in pain, his ass burning, his chest aching with need and _fuck_ he had no idea what he wanted. He just wanted Dean. Arms collapsing beneath the weight of his body and the power of Dean's thrust, Sam rubbed his cheek against the cool sheet on the bed. "Want you," he mumbled, in between moans.

He savored the mere moments he knew he would have before Dean was thrusting in to him; he knew the rough, gravelly sound of power in Dean's voice, the sound that meant Sam was _his_ and Dean would do what he wanted, what he needed. And Sam knew, he would give him anything.

Struggling to get his arms back underneath him Sam pushed up, thighs shaking, his ass still shuddering protesting the invasion and adjusting to it at the same time. "Pleeease. More," Sam whispered, knowing what Dean wanted.

Whether Sam knew it or not, his muscles were spasming around Dean's cock almost to the point where he considered just riding out his pleasure here. But Sam's words penetrated his senses a moment later and he was sliding all the way out before slamming hard back in. His hip bones took the brunt of the thrust and there was a brief flash of pain before he was rolling his hips once more.

"Sam." He gasped and slapped his hand down along Sam's hip, curling his fingers tightly and holding him in place with every thrust. Every thrust forward into impossibly burning heat sent jolts of pleasure through him and Dean threw back his head, picking up speed. Reaching down with his free hand, Dean curled his fingers around the handle of the blade and dragged the flat surface down the length of Sam's back, tilting it just slightly to graze the skin.

Each thrust pushed the breath out of Sam's body. He no longer had any idea if he was saying words, if he's just making noises, but the way Dean was driving his cock so deep, so hard, was breaking Sam apart slowly. As much as he was able he moved, he writhed, his hips were jerking forward and he was pushing his ass back against Dean, impaling himself time and time again.

Somewhere in Sam’s mind he was aware that he was saying "please," over and over, intermingled with Dean's name and felt like he was praying for the first time in his life. Sam's eyes had closed and he was dizzy. His vision blurred; his cock was hard, leaking, aching against the sheet. When Dean thrust into his ass, Sam's cock dragged over the rough cotton and it was so much he thought he would come each time.

Pleasure was building in Dean too quickly for him to control and he dropped the blade in favor of wrapping a strong arm around Sam's waist and curling fingers firmly around Sam's cock. He pulled the man's hips up, used the rest of his strength to hold him steady as his thrusts took on a near fever pitch.

"Gonna..." He gasped and angled his hips in just the right way to brush the tip against what he thought was Sam's prostate. His fist worked the same pace as his hips and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, not able to push it away any longer.

"Come for me Samuel." He growled as his orgasm pushed through him and his thrusts slowed as he came. Dean twisted his wrist, fingers sliding with each stroke along Sam's cock, pulling him closer to the peak.

"Fuck," Sam yelled. He didn't mean to, he couldn't see and bursts of pleasure sailed through his body like a hot wind. _The words_ , the hot pulsing of Dean's cock in Sam's ass had him thrusting forward one last time and he was coming harder than he ever had in his life. He stopped breathing, his body twitching and writhing underneath Dean as they both rode out the final waves of their pleasure.

Sam was covered in sweat, his body slick and hot and aching everywhere. He could taste blood in his mouth, salt, tears. His hips jerked, thighs quivering. As he collapsed under both of their weights Sam rubbed his face on the bed gasping for air, hands slowly drawing up fists full of sheet.

He wanted to _touch_ , wanted Dean's mouth on his, wanted to see his face all ruddy and overheated with lust. But Sam was _patient_ now, he had learned that much - so he squeezed his fists so tight his fingernails cut into the palms of his hands and he waited.

Dean pulled from Sam with a hiss and fell to the bed, body shaking. He sucked in deep lung full of air, keeping his eyes closed until he felt the world slowing back to its normal pace.

"Come here." Dean breathed slower and let his arm fall open as an invitation. Before Sam came into his life he could never imagine wanting, _needing_ , physical contact after sex but now it was all he could think about. Sam curled against him, Sam's hands on him. A shaky sigh left his lips before he forcefully dragged his eyes open and blinked at his lover. "Kiss me." He demanded, too weak to try and move.

Sam almost whimpered with pleasure and even though he felt as though he couldn't move, he did. Turning slowly, he dragged himself closer to Dean and slid his palm over the man's ripped stomach. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean's, rough and ready, sliding his tongue into his lover's mouth. It was hard and wet and Sam lost his soul somewhere in between breaths.

Then, the kissing slowed and this was the part that Sam loved, the brief moments of tenderness. Their lips slid and moved lazily, breath mingling and Sam was allowed, _allowed_ to move his hands over Dean's sweat-slick body. He loved touching Dean, loved seeing his face between gentle touches of their lips. Dean was as much his, as he was Dean's. Sam just didn't say the words.

Dean hummed into the kiss even as sleep seemed to consume him. He slowly lifted an arm and ran it down the back of the man's body, pulling him in closer. "Sleep." He whispered, not so much a command as it was a statement. As they repositioned themselves to get comfortable, he couldn't stop the small smile that tilted up his lips and he dropped a quick kiss to his lover's forehead. The last thing he thought before drifting off was how, in all his life, he'd never considered the idea that he could actually _love_ someone.

-=-=-=-

Sam's days centered around Dean. It was easy to shift his focus, he didn't even notice anymore. If Dean was present, anywhere within reach Sam was about nothing but what Dean wanted, needed, asked. It was like Sam was made for this. He _was_ made for this.

Sam had remade himself since Dean arrived that first night. He had let himself be molded and changed. He had grown, he had learned. It had not been entirely without pain; Sam knew when Dean punished him there was a reason. He had the reminders on his chest, his arm, the back of his neck, scars like words just as deep on his soul as in his flesh.

Dean was away and, as it always was, Sam had no idea where he had gone. He didn't mind _so much_ anymore; Dean could have his secrets. Sam had one secret; that was all he had kept, one.

Flipping his cell phone open he dialed in a number that he committed to memory long ago; it took three rings for him to hear a familiar voice.

"Sam?"

"Hey, Chad." Sam smiled; he could already tell Chad was worried. It had been a long time since Sam was able to call; sometimes Dean left him for hours, sometimes he didn't leave him for moments.

"Sam, are you okay? I never see you online anymore, and you said you'd call." Chad's voice was soft, lonely, and Sam closed his eyes.

"I'm fine." Which really meant, I'm more than fine, I'm in love with a serial killer who controls my every movement. "Things are good here; I just wanted to hear your voice." And that? That meant... _I wish you could have loved me the way I am, so broken and smashed up inside_.

When Chad spoke again there was a smile in his voice. "I've missed you Sam. Work sucks - and I'm stuck on this program - there's a bug I can't find and I always used to ask you about them." Chad's laugh was like sunshine through rain.

"Guess you have to learn your own job now huh?" Sam was grinning, dimples and all and realized he hadn't done that in a while.

"Shut it Winchester. You love me and you know it." There was a silence, the one that Chad left there sometimes as if he was waiting for Sam to fill it up with something really important. "Sam. Please call more often? I know we can't meet but I do like hearing your voice."

Smiling, Sam opened his mouth to agree and he heard the freight elevator clang violently into motion on the first floor. Dean was home. _Home_. Sam couldn't just hang up - Chad would call back - he needed to be quick and his heart raced. "Hey Chad? I gotta go - can I call you back in a few days?"

Chad was thinking of something to say and sweat was starting to bead on Sam's forehead so he got up and paced backwards toward the kitchen. "Chad?"

"Yeah, but promise you'll call Sam. Don't just leave me hanging this time okay?"

Dean pulled back the heavy doors to the elevator, stepping in to the large room just in time to see Sam snapping his phone shut and he arched a curious eyebrow. Moving to the kitchen he deposited several large bags on the counter and started pulling things out of them, biting back the urge to demand that Sam tell him who he was talking to. He focused his attention on emptying each bag, arranging various food items he'd purchased, ready for Sam to put away.

"Hello," Dean finally said after the bags were all empty.

Sam smiled brightly and walked over, tossing his phone on the kitchen counter and then sliding his arms around Dean's waist. "I missed you," he breathed against the back of Dean's neck. Sam's lips brushed the soft new hair at the back of his lover's neck and he planted a small kiss there before letting go and moving to put away the food.

"Who was on the phone?" Dean asked as casually as possible, rolling to lean his hips against the counter and watch Sam move, studying him as he'd done so often, to ensure what he said was the truth.

Picking up a bundle of carrots Sam's eyes moved up to Dean's almost immediately. "My lawyer, I've been meaning to transfer some funds to our account - kept forgetting." Turning he pulled the fridge door open and put the carrots in. "Please pass me the lettuce?" He held out his hand toward Dean and wiped his forehead against his shirt sleeve.

Dean wordlessly handed over the lettuce and gave a short nod before walking around the counter to get out of Sam's way. He headed over to the couch and dropped down onto the soft cushions. "So what are you making for dinner? I'm in the mood for something... rare." He chuckled and shoved his doubts away for the time being, figuring he'd rethink things later on when his emotions wouldn't get too out of control.

"Ironically," Sam said, buried in the fridge, "I am grilling you a steak, yes, I'm _that_ psychic." Sam popped his head up over the door and smiled then disappeared behind it again. After a few minutes he joined Dean, sitting at his feet and gazing up at him. "How was your day?"

"Uneventful," Dean mused quietly and reached out to trail his fingers through Sam's hair, gazing down at him. "Picked up some food, obviously, oh. And I got you something." He climbed off the couch, darting to a bag he'd set on his duffel bag and coming back a moment later. He repositioned himself on the couch, legs on either side of Sam's body, and opened the bag. "Well several things actually. First." He pulled out a Time magazine and handed it to Sam. The front cover was a large picture of sea glass with the headline _When will the Sea Glass Killer strike again?_

Sam's eyes lit up and he licked his lips running his thumbs gently over the cover. "Did you read it? Is it good? I like the cover. Can I read it now?" He loved when Dean brought him things, for some reason he liked to know that Dean thought of him when he was away.

Chuckling, Dean shook his head and reached into the bag once more, hand hovering over the contents inside. "No I haven't read it. And don't read it yet, one more thing." He pulled out a blade that was almost identical to the one he favored, same shape of sharp steel, same curved handle. Tossing it slightly so the steel rested in his palm, he offered the handle to Sam.

"Here." Dean tightened his fingers slightly so the sharpest edge would glide across his palm when Sam pulled on it. Dean wanted the first cut of Sam's new weapon to be on him.

Tilting his head Sam looked from Dean's eyes to the knife then back. "For me? It's just like yours." His fingers curled around the handle and he pulled the blade towards him quickly, anxious to feel its weight. When he held it up to see the silver there was blood down the razor sharp edge. Sam's brow furrowed and he looked at his other hand wondering how he had managed to cut himself. There was no wound on his palm. Realization dawned, Sam's eyes widened and he sucked in a breath and he turned to look at Dean's hand. His lover's hand was still resting on his thigh, palm up, blood pooling in the creases of his flesh. Sam's eyes were glassy when he looked up at Dean's face. "Dean," he whispered, that prayer, the wish. Sam clutched the blade to his chest and leaned forward to lay his cheek on Dean's bleeding palm. It was warm, wet, _life_. "I love you, Dean."

Sucking in a sharp breath at the combination of the sting in his hand, the way blood- _his_ blood- smeared against Sam's face, and Sam's words, Dean dragged the man up into his lap. Their lips crashed together but Dean never removed his palm, keeping it there as his tongue thrust forward into Sam's mouth to sweep across the familiar space. After a moment he used his hand to push Sam's face up and he looked into shining eyes.

The words danced along his tongue, eager to come out, but Dean wasn't sure he could actually form the appropriate sounds to release them. The last time he told anyone he loved them was his mother and it had been so long ago, just thinking he felt this way now felt odd. But something lurched in his heart, almost like fear, that Sam would be upset if Dean didn't admit the truth; confess that he felt the same. And the last thing Dean wanted was to upset Sam, especially in this moment here when he had just shown the deepest weakness, allowing Sam to cut _him_. Dean's eyes fluttered closed and he leaned forward to whisper almost with an entire exhale, "I love you Samuel."

Sam had made a million silent promises to _whomever_ was listening, offered a million bargains and would have agreed to anything just to hear those words. He had been patient, loving, calm, and obedient and he'd been rewarded. When the words were there Sam just inhaled them, built a place for them deep inside his chest with the pounding of his heart to keep them company. He puffed out a small sob disguised poorly as a sigh and placed a gentle kiss on each of Dean's eyelids, then his cheeks, then the corner of his mouth. He pulled Dean's hand up, and laid an open mouthed kiss ever-so-softly on the cut. He was clutching his life in his hands; a sharp blade in his left hand, his lover's bleeding hand in his right. _His life, their life_.

Dean allowed himself to bask in the tenderness of Sam's actions, heart seeming to dance and flutter with just the words shared between them. "I've never," he said slowly and leaned back to meet Sam's eyes, thumb coming up to swipe along the blood lingering against Sam's lips. "I've never felt so human."

Dean didn't care if the words seem odd or made him out to sound anything less than human, he knew Sam would take what he was supposed to from them. A slight wince shook his shoulders when he curled his hand together and he looked down at the blood. "Will you get the supplies from the bathroom? Just the gauze and cleaning solution should be fine; the cut’s not too deep."

Not stopping to put his knife down Sam climbed off Dean and hurried to the bathroom bringing back the requested items. Kneeling at Dean's feet he reached out for his hand again. "Let me?"

With a swallow and a nod Dean reclined back slightly and spread his hand open for Sam to look at, a small hum falling from his lips. "I'm very glad I found you Sam Winchester." He sighed softly and let his eyes flutter closed. "If I never say it again, you can always remember that."

Sam cleaned the wound gently and covered it with a small bandage. "I never forget a single word you say," he whispered. He could tell Dean was tired; he looked almost relaxed - as relaxed as Dean could manage. Moving quietly, Sam laid Dean's hand on the sofa, rose and picked up his sweater from the end of the couch. He laid it over Dean and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

Picking up his magazine Sam walked over and sat the computer, picked up the scissors and flipped to the article about Dean.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke in a _great_ mood, which seemed to be happening more and more often. Since he'd told Sam that he loved him- which he still had trouble accepting- three days ago, Dean felt the happiest that he could ever remember being. That is why he decided it was time.   
Rolling over, Dean fell across Sam's chest and bit down hard on the man's nipple to wake him. "Rise and shine Sammy boy." His hand trailed down the long expanse of skin, coming to rest just to the right of Sam's hip bone. "Today's a big day for us, no sleeping in."

Groaning Sam's hand flopped over his chest as he winced and he threaded his fingers through Dean's hair. "Five more minutes," he mumbled.

"No," Dean rolled onto top of him, leaning in to bite down hard on Sam's neck then breathed into his ear. "You need to wake up Sammy. Today we're going on a road trip."

Sam's hips jolted at the feel of Dean's teeth in his flesh. "Is that supposed to make me _want_ to get up?" A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, I'm feeling sleepy again." He leaned his head to the side, giving Dean lots of room to _punish_ him.

Dean rolled his hips down into Sam's, excitement flaring through him at just the thought of what they would be doing soon. "I don't think you're very tired." He growled and sucked in the flesh along Sam's neck, working it between his teeth until he knew a mark would be left. He ground his hips down into Sam's until the man was firm and hard against him.   
"Now wake up." Dean pushed off the bed, padding toward the bathroom. "And don't you dare touch yourself Samuel of there will be _no_ touching until after." He called just before disappearing inside the bathroom.

Swearing under his breath Sam pushed up off the bed squinting in the morning light. His fingers feathered over the mark he knew Dean has left on his neck and he smiled as he bent to straighten the bed. Rubbing his eyes he padded in to the kitchen and started the coffee for Dean. He yawned and sat down at the counter cradling his head on his arms. If Dean wanted him up at the crack of dawn then he should really not be having sex with him at three am.

Splashing water on his face, Dean couldn't help but grin at himself in the mirror. This threw him though and for a moment he staggered backward, blinking rapidly. It occurred to him that he shouldn't feel this way. That he was completely allowing himself to just _be_ with Sam and anything could happen. Anything could change that. Like now, this trip.   
Sam had killed for him but would he be able to handle killing with him? How would he act when he saw Dean in the thick of the moment, consumed with the kill? A shudder ran through him and he shook his head to chase away the thoughts, turning and heading out toward the smell of coffee in the kitchen.   
Stopping at Sam's side, he cupped the man's head between his palms and brought him forward to seal their lips together in a slow, lingering kiss.

Sam sighed happily and curled his fingers over Dean's wrists. The kiss was long and slow and everything Sam wanted; when Dean finally pulled away Sam gave him a crooked smile. "Okay - I'm awake now, started your coffee. Are we showering this morning?"   
His hands had moved from Dean's wrists to his waist, right along the line, _the_ line, no touching below the waist without permission. He trailed his pinkie over the line, licking his lips and looking up at Dean from under his long dark lashes.

"Something tells me I'm gonna need to get this out of your system before our drive," Dean said thoughtfully and leaned in to Sam's body slightly. "Cup of coffee. Then shower. If you're really good I might even let you _touch_ me in the shower the way you so clearly want." Dean smirked at him and trailed his hand down Sam's body before walking around him to the other stool and sitting. "First though, caffeine. Much needed."

Slipping off his stool Sam moved quickly and was back in no time at all with two mugs of steaming coffee; one just cream, one cream and sugar. He sat down and nudged Dean's coffee mug closer to him then took a sip from his own.   
"Road trip?" His mind was starting to sort through everything now. "We're going somewhere?" His hand was tilting, his coffee dangerously close to spilling as he started over at Dean.

"Mmmhmm," Dean hummed as he took a long drink from the coffee, enjoying the way it burned down his throat. "I thought it was about time we get out there. Experience a bit." He turned slightly to eye Sam. "About time I teach you a few things." He smirked and once more brought his coffee to his lips to take another large drink, swirling the steaming liquid around his mouth.

Sam placed his coffee back on the counter and leaned towards Dean, fingers coming to rest on his arm. "Are we going to... is it time?" Sam was so excited he was rocking on the chair, forward and back, so slightly it was almost unnoticeable. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he waited for Dean to answer.

A slow grin pulled up just the corner of Dean's lips and he held the mug to his lip to cover it, letting the anticipation build. Finally after a long minute he set the mug down and laid his hand over Sam's, pushing out of the chair and stepping toward the bathroom. When his back was facing his lover he said softly, "Yes Sam, it's time." Dean headed back to the bathroom with a commanding glance over his shoulder.

Closing his eyes for a moment Sam took in a deep breath then slid off the stool and followed Dean to the bathroom.  
-=-=-=-

They didn’t get on the road until mid morning, which was alright because Dean had already accepted the fact that Sam's mouth on him was horribly distracting. It felt good though, to slide behind the wheel of his Impala, settle back against the cool seat and take them to the highway.   
Dean decided not to go to too far, a few hundred miles up to Arkansas because he had never been and Dean always enjoyed getting to know new places. They drove the first half the day in silence. Mostly because Sam fell asleep spread across the seat, head pillowed in Dean's lap. He kept one hand threaded through the man's locks until he woke up.

Sam was hardly awake when Dean started speaking but as soon as he heard the first words his blood started pumping faster in his veins. He sat very still on the front seat, eyes laser focused on Dean's lips, watching them form the words he's waited so long to hear.

"The first thing we do when we get to any new town is to find the location for the kill," Dean said. "It's one of the most important things. I pick houses in under populated neighborhoods. Try to pick ones that have a lot of houses for sale on the block and always one with a basement. After that we find a hotel nearby, so we can walk when the time comes." Just talking about the process was starting to work its way through his system and he reached out to snag Sam and tug him close. "Next comes the place we get rid of the body. I'm sure you understand how important that is. And then... then we pick up our victim."

Sam was listening, learning, memorizing. He had never been more intent on anything in his life and would _not_ miss a thing. He hardly remembered to blink and often forgot to breathe while he listened. It was a twisted tale of intent and Sam's mind, his body, was hanging off Dean’s every word. _Victim_. He let that word wander round in his mind for a while, tried it on, and played with it. _He liked it._ His voice was soft, "You'll choose him?" Sam assumed it would be a _he_ this time, he knew Dean's preferences better than he knew his own.

Dean ran his hand along the side of Sam's body and dropped a kiss to his temple. "I'm going to allow you to pick out the victim. I'll simply tell you if I approve or not. Maybe guide you in the right direction should you need the help."

The smile on Sam's face was so many things; pleased, proud, frighteningly calm. He leaned in and placed a soft, wet kiss on the corner of Dean's mouth. "Thank you," he whispered against his lover's lips. It was easy for him now to sense the slightest change in Dean's mood and Sam withdrew a little. The muscle in Dean's jaw was twitching his eyes slightly narrowed, fingers curling slightly tighter on the steering wheel. Sam felt the car increase in speed. He waited for Dean to speak again - every fiber of his being alive.

Dean wet his lips and steeled himself for the next part. "You should understand Sam that when I kill ... I get very consumed with it. I very seldom eat or sleep during the time and no matter how turned on I get, I never touch myself." He looked over at Sam for a moment before turning back to the road. "And I won't touch you in any sexual way until after. It will make the pleasure that much more intense." He trailed a hand across his body, bringing it down to rest at his crotch and palming the area roughly. "Does all that make sense to you?"

Sam shifted slightly in the seat, long fingers curling over Dean's thigh so he could feel the muscles tense as his foot moved on the accelerator. "And the no touching? Does it begin now - or when we arrive?" He let his finger graze over the front of his lover's jeans. He could see that Dean's body was tensed, ready, his muscles were flexing underneath his soft, pale, skin.

A faint groan fell from his lips and Dean shifted forward slightly into Sam's touch. "When we arrive." He smirked, highly doubting he'd be able to handle the intense burning need through the entire kill if he tried to start now. He let his foot fall a little harder on the peddle and he shifted against the cool leather of the seat. "Let's see how long it takes you to get me to pull this car over."

Sam’s hand slid between Dean's thighs and squeezed gently. He leaned closer and exhaled his way up Dean's neck, lips trailing over the tiny hairs on his lover's neck. His tongue darted out and lightly painted over the shell of Dean's ear, following each curl, line, and dip.

"When I choose him," he spoke softly, dragging out each word as though it had some exotic new flavor, "you'll be watching?" He felt the subtle shallowing of Dean's breath and smiled against his ear. He drew his tongue down to Dean's soft ear lobe and sucked it into his mouth, rolled it back and forth between his teeth. His fingers worked Dean's thigh, then he slid his hand closer to the heat radiating from the growing bulge in the front of the man’s jeans. Sam let his thumb dig into the sensitive furrow at the top of Dean's inner thigh and bit down hard on his ear lobe before speaking again. "Will you be watching?"

Dean sucked in a sharp lung full of air, and tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. He forced his eyes to remain open and his foot to hover steadily on the peddle, keeping them just along the speed limit. "Yes," he growled and nodded jerkily. "I'll be right there. Watching and waiting. When you bring him out I'll be the one to slide the needle into his flesh." He caught the fleshy part of his lower lip between his teeth and worked it around. "Then we'll both put him in the backseat. We'll both tie him up in the house we choose. And we'll make the first cut together." He looked down at Sam for just a moment before looking back at the road and rolling his hips up almost eagerly.

Sam shifted down on the seat and ducked his head under Dean's arm as it rested on the steering wheel. Leaning against Dean's thigh Sam slipped his hand under his lover's t-shirt moving his fingers slowly along well-toned abs. Sam was enthralled - this was a new game... Dean could only do so much and it gave Sam far more control than he was used to having. A little bit more trust, Sam smiled and bit down hard on the ivory flesh of Dean's belly, burying the tip of his nose in his navel. He sucked hard for a few minutes, pulling the blood up into the tender, abused flesh then let go with a small wet sound.   
"I know what you like," Sam licked the bruise he had marked dean with, "I will find you someone beautiful."

"I trust you to." Dean groaned and the car swerved slightly. He wasn't going to be able to take much more of this, he knew that much. Dean's eyes scanned the road ahead, seeking a place they might be able to pull over and have some privacy. "You can't wait huh?" He let a hand fall to Sam's side, resting along his hip. "Can't wait to pick the perfect boy for us. Can't wait to carve into his flesh and watch the blood smear across his pale skin."   
A rest stop caught Dean's attention and he turned the car sharply off the highway, pulling to the furthest part of the rest stop and quickly turning off the car. He rounded on Sam in a flash, pulling him up by his hair and crushing their lips together. "Tell me," he gasped between the slide of their lips. "How much do you want it?"

Sam groaned into Dean's mouth and felt his lips bruise. When Dean pulled back Sam was panting. "I want to watch you." He nipped his way along Dean's jaw, sliding his tongue, liquid and hot over Dean's bottom lip.   
"Want to see your face when you see him the first time." Sam was so hard, wanted Dean to let him come and knew it was unlikely. He didn't care. Dean was like a drug that Sam needed to stay alive, needed to keep the pain away. Sam was almost purring, a growl deep in his chest. "I want to watch your blade make that first line on his body." His fingers drifted to the button on Dean's pants and he popped it open.

"Backseat," Dean groaned and kicked his leg over the seat, nearly dragging Sam over with him. He fell back against the leather and pulled Sam over him, once more crushing their lips together. Dean's hands curved around Sam's ass, grinding their hips down and together. "Shit Sam." He hissed and arched up eagerly. "Touch me," he instructed even though he knew Sam was already heading that way. He worked his hand down to Sam's waist, unfastening the button and dragging down the zipper. He needed to stroke Sam in time with the man's hand around him, needed to feel skin against skin as quickly as possible.

It was uncomfortable, big as the back seat was; ridiculous to try and fuck against each other but somehow they managed it. Sam's elbow banged into the console as he unzipped Dean's pants and tugged them down; he swore softly and flashed a predatory smile at Dean seconds before he lowered his mouth quickly over Dean's rigid cock. Half kneeling, half lying across Dean, Sam swallowed the hot, sensitive flesh and let his tongue pulse softly against it.

Thrusting up into the sudden contact, Dean moaned loudly and twisted his fingers in Sam's hair. "Sammy." He gasped and arched his hips up over and over, seeking purchase in the tight heat of his mouth. He wasn't going to last long but then again he hardly even did when Sam was involved. The man seemed to consume him in every way. His head bent awkwardly against the seat and the door as he rolled his hips up and moaned his lovers name over and over.

Sam was ruthless, buried his nose in the short hair at the base of Dean's cock then pulled back and lapped at the head, tonguing the slit then dropping his head back down quickly. The pain of Dean's fist in his hair made him ache, his weeping cock bursting for release. He hummed softly, hollowing his cheeks and drawing Dean quickly toward his release.

Dean’s orgasm shot through his system within minutes and he arched his hips up into Sam's face - kept them buried there until he'd spilled everything in him. Dean dropped back down to the seat with a heavy, blissful sigh and tugged Sam's up to his lips. "So perfect." He whispered, pushing up on his elbows to capture Sam's lips and tasting himself along the curves of the man's mouth. "Tell me what you want."

"Nothing," Sam said then licked his lips. "I want to wait." He laid his head on Dean's chest and rubbed his hips slowly against Dean's thigh. Reaching up Sam ran his thumb along Dean's bottom lip. "I want to ache and to know that afterward..." he blushed and fell silent.

Dead stroked a hand through Sam's hair for a long few minutes until his breath had returned completely too normal and his body began to cool down.   
"What a good boy," Dean said fondly and pushed them slightly to work at pulling his jeans up. "Come on, we need to get on the road if we're gonna find a house before the sun sets." He chuckled and pushed out the back door to slither out from under Sam and finish doing up his pants.  
-=-=-=-

The club Dean settled on was only a few miles from the house and the hotel. It was packed with people and possibly a little more crowded then he'd normally like but he wanted Sam to have a wide selection.   
They had both been giddy with excitement all evening, stopping randomly to share deep, heated kisses and long rubs of hips. Now, Dean lingered behind Sam, close enough to reach out and touch his back but far enough away that to the casual observer, they weren't together. His eyes traveled across body after body, noting those of interest. In his mind he began a little game, trying to determine who Sam might pick. He told himself he would allow little rewards if he got close, if he noticed one of the people Sam ended up choosing.   
A smirk curved up his lip as Sam moved forward and he sucked in a sharp breath, knowing it was time. They had discussed that Sam would approach the potential victim and size him up before looking to Dean for his approval so Dean negotiated himself to a spot where he'd be easily seen by his lover when needed.

Sam moved through the club, brushing, touching, stealing the scent of someone's hair, catching snatches of conversation. Then, he saw the _right_ man. He was standing alone at the back bar, leaning back against the counter. His skin was almost alabaster; the perfect canvas.   
Even from a distance Sam could tell his flesh would be smooth, marred by no imperfections. Sam focused in on the young man; his black hair fell softly around his face, black as pitch - about the same length as Sam's. He was tall though not as tall as Dean; his muscles were toned, _he took care of himself_. He was wearing black Levi’s slung low on his hips, a dark grey linen shirt, and black leather ankle boots. One of his pant legs was tucked in the top of his boot and Sam found himself smiling. He moved a little closer, slid along the bar and settled on a stool beside the man. He smelled good, vaguely minty, fresh, clean... _earthy_.

Sam's smile grew and he shifted on the stool as his desire grew. Glancing to the side he locked eyes with Dean.

A wide grin pulled up Dean's lips as he stared at the man Sam had chosen. Obviously his Sammy was very aware of his tastes. Catching his lower lip between his teeth, he leaned back against the bar and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Very subtly he tilted his head up and down in silent approval for his lover. A thrill spiraled up in him as he settled in to watch and he felt heat bubble up in the pit of his stomach at the very idea of what was to come.

The nod from Dean sent a jolt through Sam's body. The color in his eyes was almost completely obscured by black when his eyes dragged down Dean's body and away. Taking a few seconds to focus himself back on the task at hand, Sam breathed deeply. He could tell by the muscle twitching in the other man's neck that he had noticed Sam. Sam didn't think it was all that easy to _not_ notice him anymore. Being with Dean, being touched by Dean, had allowed Sam to grow into himself, learn to appreciate how he looked - how a simple movement could make Dean want him. Sam leaned his elbows on the bar behind him, settling back in the bar stool and letting his legs fall open slightly.

The young man turned and gave Sam a lingering glance, then turned back to watch the dance floor. Sam waited, _let your victim come to you_ , enjoying the music and kept his eyes directed away from Dean. Just knowing that his lover was watching his every move felt like there were shadowy hands on him, touching his body, moving over the curves and lines Dean loved so much. Sam licked his lips as the young man watched.

When he finally leaned over and spoke to Sam his voice was deep, he had a slight drawl, Texan maybe. Sam tilted his head towards the man ever-so-slightly; an invitation, an acceptance, _I want you too_. "You here alone?"

Sam nodded and smiled. "I'm new in town," _don't lie if you don't have to_ , "you from here?"

"Grayson," the young man extended his hand. "I'm fairly new here - don't know a lot of people yet."

Sam grasped the young man's hand, engulfing it in his firmly and as he pulled away swept his middle finger softly over the bare wrist. It was there, the slightest change in Grayson's demeanor. His pupils widened, lips parted a fraction of an inch and Sam saw his chest expand to take in a full deep breath.   
Sam could make small talk; he wasn't even really paying attention. What Sam was watching was the subtle cues this, Grayson, gave off. As they chatted, he shifted slightly closer to Sam under the guise of being able to hear him better; soon, he was sitting on the stool next to Sam, turned to face him, leaning in to speak, eyes only for Sam. Sam waited for the right moment, after Grayson had thrown his head back in laughter over something inane Sam had said; he shifted, slid his leg closer to Grayson's letting his thigh rest heavily against Grayson's knee. When he didn't pull away, when the _poor_ young man leaned in Sam lifted a finger and brushed the hair off his forehead. Sam's voice was thick, and fell upon Grayson's skin heavily, "Come outside with me?"

Licking his lips, Grayson nodded and slipped to his feet, crotch sliding against Sam's thigh as he stood.

Dean was fairly used to being outrageously turned on the moment he set his sights on a victim. This time it was even more intense and accompanied by a twist of jealously that only made the burn that much more intense. After so many times doing this he no longer felt that wave of sadness for the person about to die, but for this man there was a slight compassion. He knew just how easy it was to get consumed with Sam; the man really stood no chance. Every little move and interaction between the two had his blood racing and by the time Sam was shifting closer, Dean knew this man would be theirs.

He made his way swiftly outside to prepare the shot and wait in the shadows for his lover to come out with their victim.

Sam pushed up from the stool, knowing that once he reached his full height Grayson would be a little intimidated. He leaned his head down, letting his hair fall across his eyes, _just the way Dean liked_ and smiled before linking his finger through the other man's and tugging him gently towards the exit.   
Sam had a broad smile on his face as he strolled across the parking lot with Grayson in tow; inside his heart picked up speed with each step that brought him closer to Dean. When Sam finally reached the Impala he leaned back against it, spread his legs and tugged Grayson towards him. Leaning in he brushed his lips across Grayson's feeling the dark haired man respond immediately.

Watching from his place across the alley, Dean smirked as he slowly slid forward. He could have the needle in the back of the man's neck and emptied before he even realized they weren't alone. The faint wave of jealousy intensified and Dean growled softly, low in the back of his throat. He waited behind the man leaning into Sam until his lover met his eyes, then the smirk on his lips drew up to a wicked grin and Dean thrust the needle into the man's muscle, thumb sliding across the plunger until the liquid was drained.   
The man made just the slightest noise but Dean curled his fingers over his lips, pressing hard into the back of him and lurching forward to crush his lips against Sam's for the full seventy five seconds it took for the man between them to go under. Dean could feel the near dead weight of the man, helped Sam hold him up even as their tongues clashed and slid together. He murmured a faint, "Good job," into the kiss.

Sam was rock hard the instant he saw Dean then his knees almost gave out during the kiss. He clutched Grayson's body to his with a tight embrace under his arms. Dean was perfect, the way he appeared over Grayson's shoulder, the deadly smile on his face, his mouth - hot and rough on Sam's sensitive lips.   
Sam felt Grayson slip into unconsciousness with no fight at all, smoothly, calmly and when his fingers finally fell limply away from Sam's shirt and Dean broke away from their kiss Sam gently held Grayson in his arms while Dean opened the back door of the car.

"He's perfect," Dean mused as they climbed into the front seats and Dean turned the keys in the ignition. "So pale." Dean looked over his shoulder at him before pulling the car out of the alley and heading for the house they'd already chosen. "Did you get a name?"

Sam slid across the front seat and leaned in to whisper "Grayson" in Dean's ear. He was careful not to touch his lover, but equally careful to make sure his hot breath played across Dean's ear and neck.

A shiver crawled through body at the words and he sped up just slightly, not enough to draw attention but enough to get them there as fast as possible. Dean let a hand fall to Sam's thigh and he massaged the muscle as they turned one corner than another. Coming into the neighborhood he flicked off the headlights and let the car coast to the house they'd chosen, backing into the driveway as close to the backdoor as he could manage.   
"Now the fun part," he smirked at Sam and kicked open his car door, stepping out and automatically heading for the back where the drugged man, Grayson, lay. He pulled him out by his feet, waiting for Sam to come around and support the shoulders so they could head down to the basement.

Sam brushed the dark hair off Grayson's face and lifted him gently by his arms. The two men, lovers, _killers_ had no trouble carrying the young man down the stairs into the basement. The air was stale and Sam could smell the plastic they had laid out on the floor so carefully.   
Moving effortlessly into the center of the room, they laid Grayson's limp form on the plastic. Sam crouched down a moment and brushed Grayson's hair back from his forehead once more then pushed up and walked over to stand patiently behind Dean. Sam was silent, his voice quieted somehow by the beauty of the man with pitch-black hair, by the excitement of watching his lover prepare for such an event.

The steady thrum of anticipation started to build in Dean as he sorted through his bag to collect the knife he used just for cutting off the clothing. He allowed Sam to watch this part, simply because he enjoyed doing it so much and knew Sam would enjoy watching. Bit by bit the pale skin was exposed to the cool air and Dean took a shaky breath, pulling off ripped clothing and laying it just outside the plastic. When he finished he pushed up and adjusted the latex covering his fingers, turning to Sam with a bright grin. "Tie him up."

Sam leaned down to pick up the rope, two different types bought from huge department stores; almost impossible to trace. Sam had the briefest moment of regret when he had to touch Grayson's soft skin with gloves, but that was the price they had to pay for their anonymity.   
Crouching down, Sam pulled Grayson's ankles together, lining up his feet perfectly and ran the rope over and under his high arches, pulling it tight before angling the rope up and round his ankles. Walking past Dean, close enough to inhale his scent Sam took in a shuddering breath and moved to crouch by Grayson's head. He pulled his long, pale, toned arms up above his head stretching his torso out and tied them at the wrist. He was careful to make sure each time he wrapped the beautiful pale wrists the rope was perfectly aligned. Hands shaking slightly with anticipation he stood back, watching Dean's face; waiting for some sign he had done well.

Dean took in Sam's work and beamed, not caring if the smile was a little predatory. "Good boy." He nodded and turned to head back to his bag, sorting through until he found the sheathed knife - his _absolute_ favorite. Pulling it out the blade glistened in the low light they'd set up, razor sharp edge reflecting shadows.   
"Come here," he beckoned as he stepped toward Grayson's body. When Sam was by his side he pulled him in, sliding his back along Sam's front and outstretched his hand. "We make the first cut together." He breathed, tilting his head slightly to capture Sam's gaze briefly. They leaned forward as one and dragged the blade in one horizontal arc across the flat of the man's abdomen. Dean controlled the pressure, just deep enough that a small trickle of blood worked its way to the surface, began staining the pale skin. A harsh groan left his lips and he couldn't control grinding back into Sam’s body.

Sam's heart was thudding in his chest as though it was trying to reach Dean's body _so close_. The slightest pull, slightest resistance of the skin could be felt through the handle of the blade. Eyes fixed on the blood that appeared, almost as though painted on by a fine sable brush, Sam moaned Dean's name. The warmth of Dean's body next to his, the beautiful line of dark red seeping over the almost ivory skin, it was all overwhelming and beautiful and Sam was awash in sensation. Hard against the back of Dean's thigh, hand held under his lover’s, knife pressed against the silken flesh; this was Sam's place.

"Beautiful," Dean murmured. The word was about the blood, about the way his name fell from Sam’s lips, about the situation as a whole. After a moment of allowing the scene to wash over him, Dean stepped away from Sam to cross to the other side of the body.   
"We'll make three more before taking the car back to the hotel." He instructed, bending at the waist to repeat the line under the man's left collar bone; another just above his right nipple and the last on the middle of the creamy left thigh. The cut on the thigh was slightly deeper since the area was so much fleshier. A shiver coursed through him as he slid back and grabbed the rag from his bag, cleaning his blade and surveying his work with a gentle tilt of his head. "Does it please you?" He asked Sam, feeling a little like a nervous painter displaying his masterpiece when it was only slightly done.

Struggling to get his voice to work, Sam was staring, his mouth open ever-so-slightly. "It's more than I ever imagined. So much more." He licked his bottom lip slowly. "So much more beautiful to see this way..." Words failed him, completely, how could he ever describe the way his blood was moving differently through his own veins; the quickening of his heart beat, the rushing of desire through his body.   
Stepping closer to Dean, _not touching,_ he leaned close to his lover's ear. "It's perfect... _you're_ perfect." His eyes closed and he struggled to keep his hands by his side, to stay standing and not fall to his knees in front of Dean and press his face against the hardness he could see straining against the denim of his lover's jeans.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath and he hovered by Sam, leaning in as if to seal their lips together but stopping with just inches between them. It wasn't necessarily safe, to have any sort of physical contact here because something could happen, they could slip up, and put everything at risk. It was a delicious sort of friction that built between them though and Dean allowed them both a long few minutes to take it in.   
"Okay, to the hotel." He finally declared and moved to lay his knife back in the bag and head toward the stairs. "He should still be unconscious when we return as long as we don't walk too slowly." He smirked slightly and started up the stairs, pulling off his gloves and stuffing them in his jean pocket. When they returned later he'd grab a fresh pair. As they stepped outside he rounded on Sam and pinned him momentarily against the wall, sliding his tongue into his lover's mouth before their lips could meet.

The noise Sam made was indescribable, his heart almost stuttered to a halt when Dean's tongue pushed into his mouth. There was nothing, but Dean. Leaning slightly forward, shuddering, cock hard and weeping in the confines of his jeans, Sam sucked Dean's tongue into his mouth, gliding his tongue around his lover's then letting go. Fists clenched, Sam panted out a few breaths trying to wrestle back control of his body. "You. Dean," his eyes were wide and full and _fuck_ if he didn't love this man more than anything. "You," he whispered letting his head fall back against the wall.

A low chuckle fell from Dean's lips and he bumped his forehead against Sam's for a moment before turning and heading toward the Impala. "Don't worry; you'll have a chance to calm down a bit on the walk back. I always do find the night air refreshing." He pulled open the door, climbing in and waiting for Sam to join him before turning on the ignition and pulling out of the driveway.   
-=-=-=-

The night air was good for Sam, it was peaceful and cool. He fell into step with Dean's long strides and they covered ground quickly both eager to get back to their creation. As he walked Sam kept an eye on Dean, watching his mood, his expressions, he never wanted to forget a single detail of this night. They were back in ample time, slipped down the stairs to the basement and found Grayson as they had left him, perhaps, slightly paler, drops of blood by his side on the plastic.

"Alright now we give him another dose," Dean instructed as he walked toward his bag and retrieved the appropriate items, filling the needle and handing it out to Sam. "Right in the neck, anywhere is fine." As Sam stepped toward their victim to give him the drug, Dean pulled on a new pair of gloves, holding a fresh pair out to his lover when he returned. "Would you like to make the next cuts? I'd say four would be good; along his sides and legs. Use the same type of pressure I showed you earlier."

Smiling Sam pushed the needle gently into Grayson's neck and depressed the plunger. He watched the liquid disappear into the vein and withdrew the needle. Carefully, _always pay attention_ , Sam slipped the needle into a plastic container in the end of the bag and retrieved his knife. _His gift_. He brushed past Dean, slowly, letting as much of his body press against his lover's as possible and crouched beside Grayson's still form.

He looked back over his shoulder, seeking the encouragement he found in Dean's eyes and leaned in to press his blade against soft, forgiving flesh. Following the curve of Grayson's back, _how could he forget this name_ , Sam made the cut exactly as he'd been taught. Perfect pressure, slight curve and the tug of the skin was minimal.   
On the thigh, Sam drew the blade slower, slightly deeper and curved the cut to an end just above the knee. After looking up again at Dean's face Sam moved to repeat the cuts on the other side. When he was finished he returned to Dean's side and crouched down next to him, staring at the thick, rich, red stain on the edge of his blade.

This was one of the times Dean enjoyed the most, the long quiet moments of watching the blood pool and collect. It was peaceful, serene, and having Sam there to share it with him only made it a thousand times better. He said nothing, knew Sam would stay quiet as well until addressed, and they stood together and watched until the minutes blurred to hours. At some point he folded his legs beneath him, tugging Sam down as well so they could sit on the cool cement.   
About the time the sun started to rise he crawled forward on hands and knees, pulling at his knife he'd laid on the edge of the tarp and beginning a short sequence of deep cuts in practiced random disarray along the man's calves. He bit his lower lip with each one, feeling them curl through his body like tiny jolts of pleasure right to his semi-hard cock. "Sam." He pushed up from the ground, blinking down at the man. "Come see, he's waking up."

Moving quickly Sam settled by the dark head of hair once more peering upside down into the barely open eyes. "Dean? Can he hear us? Does he know?" He bit down hard on his bottom lip, eyes wide with wonder.

"He knows, though we most likely sound a little vague to him." Dean smiled fondly at Sam and rested his knife to the side, walking to the other side of Grayson's head and kneeling. "We won't give him any more drugs until the end." He reached out a gloved finger and trailed it along the man's jaw, tilting the head up slightly. His eyes flickered open and Dean stared down into them.   
"Poor boy... had no idea what talking with you would lead to." Dean glanced over at Sam and smirked, looking back down at the victim in the next moment. "I'm sure you never thought your life would end this way, spread out before us so beautifully. It's a wonderful way to go." He reached backward to grab his knife and let the tip drag just hard enough on the skin on his cheek to draw blood.

"I like him this way." Sam tilted his head and ran his eyes over the body in front of them. This was what he and Dean were meant to do, create. The art of destruction, technique and feeling all rolled into one; skillful hands teaching an alert mind. They were an unstoppable team.   
Sam took a deep breath and stared across at Dean's face, the face he awoke to every morning, the face that he had dreamed of for so long without even having an inkling of his true appearance. "Thank you Dean." _Thank you for teaching me, for loving me, for making me feel as though I'm not alone, for challenging me and cutting me, for blood and sex and the gamut of things in between._ His voice was thick with the rest of the words and only the same two came out, "thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

They consumed themselves with little cuts then long strokes, carving up the man slowly and delicately. Dean was more outrageously turned on than he ever could remember being and he knew with just little glances at Sam, that the man felt the same. Sometimes they sat together, watching the blood pool and swirl in little puddles of crimson copper. Other times Dean hovered over the body to draw his work and he was always distinctly aware of Sam's eyes like fire along his skin, sharp breaths the only noise passing between the two.

Dean never touched though, and naturally neither did Sam. Hours slipped past, though Dean was not really aware of them until it was once more dark and they needed to turn on the portable lantern.

Around this time he and Sam went to retrieve the car once more and by the time they returned it was obvious Grayson was not going to last much longer. He looked up to tell Sam that but could tell his lover already knew. "Shall we finish him?"

Sam nodded slowly, and dropped to one knee beside Dean next to the dark-haired man. "Use my knife?" He offered Dean the handle of his new blade, dipping his head slightly, looking down at Grayson and then back up through his lashes at Dean.

With a short nod, Dean curled his fingers firm around the handle and brought it forward, shifting slightly and reaching a gloved hand out to tangle in the man's hair. "One quick drag." He pressed down hard on the left side of the neck and slowly pulled it across. The flesh and muscle tore under Sam's blade, severing arteries with each inch. His breath quickened as the last remnants of blood pooled along the skin.

Grayson's body twitched and jerked slightly beneath them, the man already too far gone to know that his time was drawing to an end. Dean stepped back after a moment, pulling off his gloves and dropping them into the bag, laying Sam's knife on the rag.

Dean dragged his lover up, pulled him flush back to front against his chest. Shifting slightly to watch the man still bound on the tarp die, Dean let his palm fall to Sam's crotch and rest there without moving. His lips brushed along Sam's ear and he whispered softly, "This is the life we've taken. You and I. We're connected forever now, in every way."

Sam leaned back against Dean; let his still gloved hands fall to his sides. He always loved the feel of Dean's body, firm, hot, supporting him, pressed against him like muscle over bone, joined. Letting his head fall back, Sam was so _there_ , so in that moment. Dean's hand on his aching hardness, painful from hours of overstimulation brought everything to a peak for Sam. He let Dean hold him there for a few moments listening to his words and then slid slowly down the front of Dean's body taking the place he _needed, wanted_ by Dean's feet.

Stroking his hand idly through Sam's hair, Dean waited until the body on the tarp had stopped moving completely, until the chest no longer rose or fell, and no more blood seeped from any of the cuts. His heart thudded loudly in his chest and he curled his fingers in Sam's hair and tugged. "Come on, let's clean up. I have a lot of things planned for the rest of our evening." He smiled down at his lover and stepped back to retrieve the first bucket.

Rolling gracefully to his feet Sam grabbed a bucket and joined Dean. They had a well-rehearsed method for getting the blood off the plastic and into the buckets. Sam was on one side of the tarp, Dean on the other, and they created a funnel using the body as the center weight. When they could drain no more blood, they wrapped Grayson's body carefully in the tarp.

It was almost like human origami, careful folds and creases to hold the flesh and maintain the integrity of the plastic and still containing the remaining blood. Sam moved easily, quickly with no remorse or regret. He was ready to be finished, now the beauty they had created was hidden under the opaque plastic, he just wanted _Dean_. They carried the buckets up the first floor landing and then went back down to retrieve the carefully bundled and tied plastic. Loading both into the car was quick work and they were soon on the way to the drop-off point Dean had selected earlier.

They drove in silence, both still too far consumed with the thrill and _need_. It was pitch black when they finally arrived at their destination along the riverbank and Dean flipped off the lights before parking the car.

Working in their continued silence, they tied weights to both the arms and legs of the body before carefully tossing him off the large bank. Next they poured out the buckets of blood, not stopping to watch it flow away since it was too dark. Before they stepped away Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of light blue sea glass. Dean gave him a surprisingly soft smile and pinched it between his fingers, dipping down to tuck the fragment just along the shore bank where it would be found, if someone looked hard enough.

Dean needed Sam more than he ever could have imagined. Every part of him itched to pull him in and take him right then and there but that would ruin everything they'd worked so carefully for so he simply slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Sam to join him before taking off, reaching the hotel parking lot in less than ten minutes. As he pulled the car into a parking spot he rounded on Sam and pulled him into a deep kiss, biting along his lower lip before jerking back to say, "You have no idea the things I'm going to do to you."

Sam's breathing was ragged and hard, sweat beading on his forehead; he wanted Dean inside him now. His hands clawed their way after Dean as he tried to move away, grasping at his shirt as Sam moaned out his name. "Here, now, please..." was all he could manage to get out. He'd been perfect and never dared to touch himself all day, just like Dean expected. "Need you now, Dean... please?" He was begging with his words and his hands and his eyes.

"Not in the car Sammy." Dean chuckled fondly and dragged his thumb down Sam's jaw. He pulled back and pushed open the car door, waiting for Sam to open his side before locking it up. The heat coming from his lover was intoxicating and Dean made a point to walk a few steps ahead as they made their way up the walk to their hotel room. He pulled the room key from his pocket and smirked over at Sam. "For the first round, I'm going to let you do whatever you'd like." Then he pushed the key into the lock, twisting until he heard the lock slide free and turning the door handle. "Since you were such a good boy."

Barely waiting until they were through the door Sam launched himself at Dean. He slammed his mouth against Dean's, slipping his hands around Dean's waist and pressing their bodies close, tight, right against each other. "Whatever I would like?" Sam pulled back from the kiss, trembling.

Truthfully, Dean wasn't very certain how long he would be able to last, but he wanted this moment to be special for Sam. He'd have his fun later once the initial high of what they'd just experience wore off and they could both bask in the afterglow of the kill. "Yes Sam, whatever you would like. Take or ask, it'll be yours." He trailed his hand along Sam's face with a soft smile.

Sam crushed his lips against Dean's once more, tongue pushing for entrance into his lover's mouth _so hot, so wet_. Sam's mind was barely functioning on any intellectual level. His thoughts were replaced by basic instinct, want, the need to just _have_ Dean.

Almost collapsing, Sam dropped to his knees in front of Dean in the front hall of the motel room, fingers fumbling at Dean's belt and button, then zipper. His hands felt too big, too shaky and too numb and it took forever to get the jeans down over Dean's hips. Sam buried his face in the short hair at the base of Dean's rigid cock, breathing in his lover's scent. He moaned something that might have been Dean's name and shoved his hands under the denim to cup Dean's ass and bring him closer. _Anything you want._

Blinking up at Dean in the barely lit hotel room Sam squeezed his hands and pulled his lover's hips closer. "Dean, thank you."

A full shudder crawled through his body and Dean stared down at Sam. His cock twitched with pleasure, seeing Sam kneeling before him always had this affect and to know he was doing it willingly - without being told or asked - heightened the experience. "You're welcome." He whispered, wondering if Sam was thanking him more for the experience, or for the hole in his life he was filling. Dean knew both were just as important, knew there was no way he could go back to the way life had been living before. "You complete me." He said aloud even if he hadn't been intending too.

Sam's tongue shot out of his mouth and ran over Dean's shaft, moving all the way from the base to the tip quickly, swirling once around the head; then he sat back on his heels, panting, getting himself under control. He leaned forward slightly and nosed in against Dean's balls, licking the tender flesh gently, inhaling the musk of his partner. As he sucked and licked and bit Dean's flesh, images from the evening ran through Sam's mind. His hips were twisting in a rhythmic figure eight, his muscles taut, face flushed.

Unable to stand it any longer, Sam lurched to his feet and tugged Dean to the couch motioning for him to sit down. Kneeling quickly, Sam removed Dean's boots and socks, then tugged his jeans off taking a few moments to run his hands up and down his lover's legs. Sam frantically tugged at the buttons of his shirt, opening the front and then crawling up on to the couch and moving closer to Dean's lap. "Just want you."

Sam's hot mouth was over Dean's cock in a flash, sucking and licking as he gasped and tried to breathe through his nose. It was sloppy, and wet and urgent and Sam moved quickly, sliding his long fingers around the base of Dean's hardness, holding him exactly the way he knew made him come quickly. Head moving up and down quickly, Sam's tongue worked the hot flesh, pulsing and winding, never still.

Dean bucked up into the quick touches of Sam's mouth, eyes squeezing tightly shut as he felt his orgasm crawling quickly up through him. This hadn't really been what he'd imagined Sam doing with his freedom of choice but he definitely wasn't complaining. His hand came out to tangle through Sam's hair, squeezing tightly but allowing the man to control his pace. It was obvious his lover knew exactly how to please him.

"Sammy,” he groaned and let his head fall back against the couch cushion, spreading his legs wider. "I'm gonna come." He hissed and arched up off the fabric, driving himself hard into the man's mouth as the first pull of white hot shot through him.

A half-sob, half-growl burst out of Sam's mouth as soon as he managed to swallow his lover's release. Breath hitching in his chest, shaking, aching deep within his core he fell against Dean's stomach. It was smooth and soft against the rough stubble of Sam's cheek and he found himself smiling.

Reaching out beside him blindly, he grabbed Dean's hand, and twined their fingers together, heart slamming against his ribcage. He rubbed up against the back of the couch and almost cried out, the pressure so soft - was so intense. But Sam didn't want to touch himself, he wanted his release to come when Dean decided it was time. Not before. He laid a trail of kisses over Dean's abs and settled for a few moments catching his breath.

Allowing himself a moment to come down from his pleasure high, Dean touched every part of Sam's face he could reach, a small smile playing across his lips. "Come here." He instructed as he pushed up off the couch, curling his fingers around Sam's wrist and leading him toward the bed. Once they stood by the foot of the mattress he turned and let his hands fall over Sam's shoulders, running across the strong muscles slowly. Working fingers in the hem of the man’s shirt, he tugged the cotton up and over Sam's head, letting it drop to the floor and stepping in to slide open mouthed kisses along his skin. "My Sam." he breathed, hooking his fingers under the waist band of his lover's pants and slipping the button out of the fabric and dragging down the zipper.

Sam closed his eyes and just absorbed every touch, every sensation. His entire body was on fire, sweat slick, every touch of Dean's fingers almost overwhelming, too much. He leaned forward into Dean letting the man take some of his weight and sighed out a shuddering breath. All day he had waited for Dean's hands on him.

He laid Sam down back on the bed slowly, pulling off his shoes and socks, followed quickly by jeans and underwear. Dean crawled over his body with a slow trail of kisses. Letting his lips slide along the inside of Sam's thighs, they hovered just inches from the base of his lover's cock. A smirk pulled up the corner of his lip as danced around the area, not touching beside the ghost of his breath along the skin.

Smooth fingers slipped under the curve of Sam's ass, squeezing and massaging the man's muscles. After a moment of lavishing attention to the patch of skin just above Sam's hipbones, Dean continued his journey upward. He paused at each nipple, sucking them each in turn into his mouth, tongue circle around before teeth sank down sharply. He kept his hips purposefully raised above Sam's so the man could get no contact or relief. It would be only a matter of time until he caved and let Sam come, but until then he was going to drive his lover as crazy as possible.

Finally he reached the man's lips and he dove in sweep his tongue along the curved flesh, savoring the whimper he received in response. "Do you want me to touch you?" Dean asked against Sam's lips, tongue dipping in to caress Sam's swiftly before pulling back. "Am I driving you crazy Sammy?"

Sam nodded, hips jolting up at the sound of Dean's voice. "Y-yes." It was more of a hiss than a word, less of an answer than a plea. As Dean's lips moved over Sam's body it started to tremble uncontrollably, he was losing it, for the first time - pushed too far. His hands danced over the back of Dean's neck, feeling the sweat dampened hair. "Please," he whispered. There was nothing more that would come out of his mouth, at least nothing that could be considered a word. Sam was lost in Dean's eyes, the dark pupils so wide and lust blown, the slightly predatory glint.

As much as he enjoyed the steady build up, staring down into his lover’s intense eyes, Dean wanted to taste Sam across his tongue. So he slithered back down the man's body and opened his mouth wide, curling his fingers along the base of Sam's cock and holding him in place. Looking up under his eye lashes to watch the beautiful flush crawl across his lover's body; Dean lowered his mouth and sucked him in whole.

Sam's weight rested along his tongue and he hollowed his cheeks, dragging up along the skin as he relaxed the muscles in his throat. He knew Sam had to be only moments away from losing his control. A moan worked its way up his throat, vibrating around the cock filling his mouth.

Crying out Sam slammed his hands into the mattress. "D-Dean. No... nnnn..." Sam had tried so hard all day, to wait, to be patient, and now Dean's mouth was just pushing him over the edge almost instantly. Nothing, had ever felt better, hotter and Sam's eyes slammed closed as he tried to pant through the desire that flooded his system.

Hips bucking, muscles tightening everywhere Sam's body arched up off the bed, "Dean," he whispered. His head was thrown back, fists clenched as he keened, cried, moaned- sounds he'd never made for anyone... ever. His desire was so intense it was almost painful but he wanted so much - to be right, be good, and be what Dean wanted, and wait for his order.

Smiling in satisfaction, Dean pulled up his head and slid down slightly, laying his cheek against Sam's thigh and slipping a hand forward. "So beautiful Sammy," he breathed the words, fingers parting his lips so he could suck on them, slicking them up. "You're such a _good_ boy." His smile grew wider as he pushed up and slid two fingers inside the tight ring of Sam's muscles at once.

"Not coming until I say so. Holding on." He reached out with his free hand and stroked Sam's cock slowly, thumb gliding over the slit and gathering the precome, bringing it to his lips to suck. "It makes me want to reward you." Dean shifted forward until he could clasp his lips along Sam's nipple once more, biting hard. "Would you like to be rewarded Sammy? Would you like me to let you come?"

Sam was writhing on the bed, barely able to contain himself, feeling like he was about to crawl out of his own skin. "P..Please, Dean," his voice was almost too soft to be heard. His shaking fingers curled over Dean's head, pushing him against his chest. "Pleeease." The veins and tendons in Sam's arms were roped; his neck stretched back, arms falling out to the side. Sam's eyes were glazed, his lips swollen, red and begging. _Please, please, please_ all that went through his head.

"Alright, since you asked so nicely," Dean smirked and fell back down Sam's body, working his fingers quickly in and out of Sam's tight muscle. He dragged his tongue along his lips and eyed the weeping cock in front of him. Several deep breaths later and he glanced up at his lover. "You can come." He said softly before swallowing the man whole and forcing his throat to relax to accommodate the man.

It felt like Sam would split open somehow, fall apart, break into pieces, Dean's fingers worked into his ass, and Sam couldn't even make sounds anymore, his head fell back hard, mouth open in a strangely silent cry. And then the air rushed into his lungs as his cock throbbed, shooting warm wetness into Dean's throat.

Sam's entire body jolted, waves of pleasure shuddering through his body as he came harder and longer than he ever had. He was sore, and aching, and everything felt amazing - like his body was new, unlearned. His cock throbbed and pulsed and Dean swallowed everything Sam had to give. Sweating, flushed, Sam fell back onto the mattress boneless and weak.

Running his tongue over his lips as he climbed up the bed, Dean collapsed beside his spent lover with a smile. He pulled the man in close to his body, burying his nose in Sam's hair and inhaling sharply. The smell of blood still lingered along his skin and Dean groaned softly. The last twenty four hours or so were starting to catch up with him and the first hints of sleep clouded his vision. He was fairly hungry too but decided waiting was okay, he didn't feel much like moving anyway. "Night Sam," he said softly and kissed the hair beneath his lips before letting his eyes fall closed.

-=-=-=-

Sam slipped out of bed quietly in the morning, leaving Dean sleeping. He stood in the morning light for a few moments, staring down at Dean's face. The last twenty-four hours had been almost surreal; something Sam had only dreamed about before Dean had actually found him. It sent a thrill down Sam's spine to wonder if the next article he was cutting out would be about the kill _they_ perpetrated the night before. Even as he stood there, naked in the dim morning light he could sense the smell of the blood, the feel of Grayson's ivory flesh as it continued to pale. _Beautiful_.

Padding over to the in-room coffee pot, Sam started the coffee and dressed quietly. Moving almost silently around the room, he finally slipped on his boots and left the room, letting the door snick shut behind him.

-=-=-=-

There was nothing quite like waking up to the smell of freshly made coffee and Dean stretched his body to its full length as he rolled on the mattress. "Sam?" He mumbled letting his fingers graze the headboard as he shifted down to stretch his arms out as far as possible. Once every muscle in his body seemed to be completely stretched, his body tingling pleasantly, Dean pushed up off the mattress and headed toward his bag, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers. "Sam?" He asked again, looking around the wide open room.

He moved to the coffee pot, searching around for a moment for a mug, and figured his lover was most likely in the bathroom. Only, as he raised the steaming cup to his lips, his eyes flickered to the open door of the bathroom. It was dark and quiet but Dean walked quietly over to flip on the light, just to check. "Sam?" He tried again only this time the word came out more as a quiet ache. His eyes darted rapidly over the room, trying to sort the pieces out.

Sam's boots were not in the place he'd left them the night before. And just that one fact told him all he needed to know. Sam had left. Sam had _left_ him. Dean had never considered the idea that his heart would love enough to hurt this bad. Had he pushed Sam too far the night before? Had the man woken consumed with guilt and went to turn them in? Dean didn't really care if he got caught now. If he had to try and live this life without Sam ... it would be impossible. Dean couldn't even process the idea. Whatever he'd done to make Sam go was obviously his fault and he hated himself more now than he ever had before.

Setting the still full cup of coffee on the table, Dean stripped out of his boxers and dropped them by the bag once more, crossing to the bathroom and turning on the shower. He stood under the spray for a long time before leaning against the back wall and sliding down the tile. The spray only hit his legs and Dean stared at it in almost shock, trying to imagine what a life without Sam would be like. He almost hoped the caught him now. How was he supposed to go on now that he knew there was more?

-=-=-=-

Sam nudged the door open with his hip and almost fell in the door with some shopping bags. He felt a little sheepish but he had wanted to make a big breakfast; surprise Dean with some flowers; he was still thrumming with energy from the night before... the trust he had been given was monumental and it made Sam feel a little like he had nothing of equal value to give. Once he stopped rustling through the bags he heard the shower running and grinned, unbuttoning his shirt as he pushed the bathroom door open. "Dean, I can start breakfast as soon as we're done our show-" the words were choked off in his throat when he saw Dean.

His lover was sitting on the shower floor cold water chilling the air of the bathroom. Falling to his knees by the bathtub, Sam reached out a hand, "Dean?"

Dean wasn't necessary aware of the cold water stinging his skin but Sam's voice did manage to penetrate the cloud covering his brain. Only Dean was fairly certain he'd imagined it. Every part of him felt numb and he wished all at once that he'd never come to this place, never scared Sam away. It shouldn't _hurt_ like this. Dean had gone out of his way to make sure it would never come to this. Blinking slowly he looked up at the man, wondering if he'd already reached the stage of seeing things. "Sammy?" He whispered then snapped his jaw shut, clamping down hard on his tongue.

Reaching for the tap Sam hissed when he felt how cold the water was. He turned it off and leaned over the edge of the tub and rubbed his fingers on Dean's cheek. "Hey, Dean?" Sam slipped his hands under Dean's arms pulling him closer. "Dean? What happened?" his eyes quickly scanned over Dean's body, "what happened?" Sam's hands smoothed back Dean's hair and he ducked his head trying to see into his lover's eyes.

Not sure whether to pull away from the touch or dive forward into Sam's warmth, Dean's shoulders stiffened. Now that the cold water was off him, things were starting to click a little more. "Don't." Dean shoved himself hard out of the tub, stumbling over the ledge and falling onto his knees with a hiss.

Why had Sam come _back_? Had he come to gloat? Come to take Dean away to the police in trade for his own freedom? Was Sam really going to betray him? If that was the case Dean sure wasn't going to let it happen while he was naked. He forced himself up and forward, shivering as he headed across the room to his bag in search for clothes.

Sam stumbled out of the bathroom behind Dean. "Wait, Dean I don't understand, what's going on?" He grabbed Dean's arm and tried to yank him back into his arms.

"You were-" Dean yanked on his boxers, pulling them up over his shivering skin quickly. He tore through the bag quickly, if only to heat up his body more. "I woke up and you weren't-" Dean couldn't get his lips to form the words. Working quickly he pulled his shirt down over his head and stepped into his jeans. He didn't bother doing up the button or the zipper, just crossed the room and fell down onto the mattress with a heavy sigh.

Sam stood in the room for a few moments, startled; still not quite sure what had happened. He walked over to the bed and pulled the blanket over Dean's cold flesh then withdrew not wanting to feel the pain of Dean pushing him away again. He clasped his hands and looked down at them. "I just. I wanted to make you something special, and there was nothing here. Dean?" Sam rubbed his lover's shoulder gently, "was I? Did I do something wrong?" Sam's heart sped up.

"You left." Dean formed the words slowly and they hurt. He blinked in surprised at the sting in his eyes and turned his face into the bedspread, mumbling the words. "I let you in. Shared the most - _my_ most precious thing. I gave myself in every way possible last night, with the kill and you..." Dean bit down hard on his lip, splitting the flesh so blood smeared across his tongue. "I thought you had gone for good. I thought... you had left me for good."

Listening to Dean was making Sam's heartache. He kicked his feet up on the bed and curled his warm body over Dean's - not giving him a chance to protest. He laid his head on the mattress so his nose was almost touching Dean's; "I went to get you fruit and cereal for breakfast. And I bought flowers. How could I... Why would I leave you?"

"I thought maybe I'd finally-" He rolled slightly, slowly reaching out to lay his arm across Sam's body. "Maybe I'd finally pushed you to your limit. Maybe you'd changed your mind about being here. About being with me." Dean sighed shakily, and kept his face turned away, not wanting Sam to see the way his face most likely looked. He'd never felt so dejected before. It was making thinking straight a real problem.

Sam turned Dean's chin so they were facing each. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the man's face. He was used to seeing such limited emotion on Dean's face and it was never sadness, never made him appear this lost.

"Dean, can't you trust me?" Sam leaned in and licked off the smear of blood on Dean's bottom lip. "You're in my soul," he pressed his lips against Dean's, "part of me. How would I live without you?” He kissed Dean long and hard, pulling the shivering man into his arms. "Always," he whispered against Dean's wet hair.

Dean let out a shaky sigh against Sam's lips and leaned in slightly, dragging his tongue along his own lips and Sam's. "I do. I trust you," he whispered and pulled back to meet his lover's eyes. "But when I thought- and there was no note." Dean's lips turned down in a frown as he attempted to force some of the negative feelings away.

"Why wouldn't you leave a note? You should have!" He weakly shoved at Sam's shoulder and dropped his head into the curve of the man's neck, inhaling sharply and scooting his body closer. Needing now to be reassured by Sam's presence.

Sam wrapped his long arms around Dean's shoulders pulling him tight to his body. "I'm sorry. I won't do that again without leaving you a note, I promise." He rubbed Dean’s back gently, warming him with the friction - his cheek so cold against Sam's neck. "I'm sorry - I guess I thought you would know how... how... amazing everything was last night."

Sam could feel the blush crawling back onto his cheeks. He spoke softly, feeling Dean relaxing slightly, "it was beautiful and the thing is - I can't imagine ever doing something like that without you - it's part of us, something that defies description. But - it's you and it's me and I never want to live without that again." He kissed Dean's ear softly and squeezed him close to his chest.

Snuggling forward slightly, Dean kissed the skin beneath his lips. "I'm glad to hear you say that." He rolled his hips, shifted so he could straddle his lover and stare down into his eyes. "I don't think I can live without you again Samuel. I wouldn't be complete after last night." Dean fell forward to ghost their lips together. "After everything we shared. I don't think I could kill again alone, not without you.”

"You don't have to - I'm not going anywhere." Sam stared straight into Dean's eyes, giving him every opportunity to see there was no question, no concern, nothing in his eyes but love, desire; a heart full of the obsession he had for Dean and for their life. "You've gotta let yourself believe that sometime Dean... try it out... see how it feels." Sam ran his hands down over Dean's chest still cool from the shower water.

It seemed too much like a foreign concept to Dean, allowing himself to have absolutely no doubt in his mind about the continued presence of Sam. He wished there was a way to make it more permanent, more solid and real to him. His lips pressed together as he trailed his hands down Sam's arms. "I'll try. I… I need to eat something." He said suddenly and pushed up off the bed, heading toward the table. "You mentioned you got food?" He stopped when his eyes landed on the flowers and a faint smile danced across his features. "And flowers..."

Sam sat on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him resting back on his arms. "Yeah, flowers - it was _supposed_ to be a surprise. I know it's a bit on the romantic side but - I wanted you to know that last night-“ He wasn't going to keep trying to explain it. "Listen, Dean. You know, maybe we don't have to do it now that we have each other?" He blinked across the room at Dean - trying to gage the expression on his face. "Maybe I could be enough for you. Maybe together - we can just... I don't know."

As the words and the suggestion registered with Dean his shoulders stiffened. He kept his back to Sam, inhaling and exhaling slowly. "Not... kill?" He asked softly, reaching out to wrap fingers along the table top. There had never been a time when he considered not killing. The idea seemed so impossible. "It did bother you." Dean said slowly, twisting his hand to trace the cool wood surface. "Was it what happened? Did I scare you? Disgust you?"

Sam sighed. Things were going all wrong. "No, that's not it - you could never. Dean... did you see my face last night? Were you watching? Did you feel how turned on I was? Did any of that register in your thick skull?" He flopped back down on the bed, cringing inwardly at the way he'd spoken to Dean.

"My thick skull?" Dean whipped around, suddenly fed up with everything that had transpired this morning. "What the hell do you think you're doing Sam? Making things better? Because I can tell you that you're not. I don't even think you realize the weight of the moment. That _is_ my life. It's all I've known and to let you in on that and then have you suggest we don't? How did you think I was going to feel? You say you've been following me, well then you know how long I've lived in this world. Giving it up... I just don't know if that's something I can do."

"Never mind, that's not what I-" Sam said from the bed. He lay there for a few more minutes and then pushed up. "I'm gonna go for a walk, get some air." He stopped at the door and struggled into his boots. "I'll be back later so don't freak out again - I just. I need some... time by myself." Sam twisted the door knob and pushed the door open.

"Sam." Dean said the word a lot colder than he intended but he didn't back out, didn't change his mind once the words started flowing. "If you leave. I'm not going to promise to be here when you get back. Just so you know." He turned from the door and headed back to his bag, still cold, heart still aching. He found himself longing for the night before, wondering how it had all gotten so wrong so fast.

Sam froze at the door. "So - I want some air, I walk out that door and you leave me?" He turned to face Dean, eyes wide and hurt, "just like that?"

Dragging his tongue across his lips and staring down into his duffel Dean stayed silent for a long time. "Didn't you already have your fresh air?" He asked softly, not looking up to make sure that Sam was still there. His heart thumped in his chest as he pulled out his jacket and slid it on. "Haven't you gone weeks and weeks content always in my presence and now you need space and time? What did you think was going to happen?"

"You're punishing me because _you're_ scared. That's what this is." Sam turned and faced the open door. "I bet you've never been scared have you, Dean? Scared like when someone you love, someone you _worship_ tells you that if you simply step outside a door they won't be there when you come back." His head was down and he pushed the door wider, angrily brushing tears off his face.

"Well, let's see how you like the feeling," he choked out. Sam slipped through the door closing it behind him. He stood there in the early morning light, chest heaving then sat down hard on the cement leaning back against the door. _Let him see how it feels_. He pulled his knees up close to his chest and waited.

Dean didn't even realize tears were falling down his cheeks until one dropped on his hand. He stared at it for awhile, hating the way it felt like the room was echoing with the slam of the door. He rode the first wave of anger by stomping around the room to gather his things, stuffing them into the bag. Sam should know by now, from all Dean's said, that everything about this was so new to him.

When everything was stuffed in the bag he stared around, trying to decide what to do. With a sigh he headed toward the table to eat a quick meal, knowing he wouldn't be able to get anywhere on the complete lack of food running through his system. It had been almost two days since he last ate. Plus he figured maybe Sam would come back before he was done.

-=-=-=-

Sam was a little cold, but he wasn't moving from the door. He didn't even mean to lie down and curl up, it just happened because he was freezing. He certainly didn't mean to fall asleep but he was tired, and upset and terrified. He just shuffled his back against the door before he dozed off.

Sam didn’t return in the ten minutes it took Dean to finish off a bowl of cereal and slip into his boots. Nor did he return in the five minutes Dean spent staring at the door, fingers curled around the duffel bag strap. Dean thought about not going, about planting himself on the couch and just _waiting_. But Dean had never been very good at waiting. Just like he would not ever be good with relationships. So with a resigned sigh he stepped toward the door, pausing by the table to pull up a piece of paper and write _I will always love you_ across the lines in neat scrawl.

Only when he stepped outside he didn’t get far before tripping over the sleeping form of his lover, balancing himself just in time before he could fall to the hard cement. He gasped in surprise and blinked down at the man. "Sam?"

Sam started, and scrabbled out from under Dean to lean back against the wall for a moment. He blinked up, shading his eyes from the sun, "you were going to leave." Sam leaned on the wall with his hand pushing himself up to stand. He shook his head sadly. "Does that mean you didn't like the way that it felt because I sure didn't."

Sam turned and walked back into the room hoping Dean would follow him. "Dean," he turned just inside the door only slightly so Dean could just see his profile, "I will give you everything, I will submit to you, I will follow you, be with you - but - I can't do that if I think you're going to just leave me if I make a mistake. If you want me to be yours then you can't just cut me loose. I'll have... nothing left. If you're going to leave me you might as well kill me." He walked into the room and kneeled down by the end of the bed... waiting.

Dean stood on the cement staring back and forth between the exit and Sam, torn more in half than he could ever remember feeling. Very slowly he turned to the room and walked inside, shutting the door behind him and leaning against the hard wood. His eyes roamed along Sam's form kneeling, waiting for him to take his spot in front of him. "Sam," he said softly, needing to fill the tension with something. Dean pushed away from the wood after awhile and dropped his duffel by the table, walking to stand in the space beside Sam and reaching out to lay a hand across the man's hair. "I'm sorry. This is... I've never."

Leaning in to Dean's strong legs, Sam slipped his arm around them and rubbed his cheek against the cool denim. "I know it's hard, I _do_ know, Dean." He looked up turned his head slightly into Dean's fingers as they moved over his hair, "but I need to know you won't leave me or I can't do this." He blinked, "it's too hard to give you everything if you'll just take yourself away from me."

Dean dropped heavily onto the bed and spread his legs, pulling Sam into the space against the mattress and holding him against his body. "I..." He swallowed several times and wet his lips trying over. "If I promise. If I swear on everything I am that I will never leave you - you'll believe me? You'll trust my word? You'll give me all of you forever without another question?"

Sam nodded silently, arms snaking around Dean's waist. He nuzzled against Dean's stomach, eyes closed against the tears he was trying to fight off. "Yes," he murmured into Dean's shirt. "Forever... it's been forever since you found me." He pulled back a little, looking up at Dean from under his dark eyelashes. "Are you saying that you won't leave me?" His eyes were glassy and wide, fingers rubbing hard into the muscles of Dean's lower back.

"Oh Sammy." Dean's hand shook slightly as he reached out to touch Sam's face softy. "I'm not saying it's not going to be. That I'm not going to be..." He sighed and cupped Sam's cheek, bringing him forward for a chaste kiss. "But... I can promise you that I won't go anywhere. As long as you promise to not leave me, you know, when I become too much or you know... for Chad." He tried for a smile, not sure it came across right.

Sam's arms tightened at the mention of Chad's name. "Don't," he said, his voice tight, "I won't leave you... just don't." Sam didn't even know what he was asking, or begging; he just didn't want Dean saying Chad's name like it meant nothing. Chad did mean _something_ , somewhere in Sam's mind, he just couldn't see Chad fitting in to his life in any way.

Sam was so stirred up inside, like all the colours of a palette swirled together and becoming gray and cloudy. He just held on, thoughts and emotions running through his mind and tangling with each other. Sam threw his body back away from Dean's and fumbled with the button and zipper on Dean's pants, he shoved Dean's shirt up roughly and leaned in to lick and suck the sensitive flesh. Nuzzling his face into the opening at the front of his lover's jeans, Sam breathed in and pulled away. "S..s..sorry." He licked his way up Dean's torso, "sorry...may I?" He pulled away for a moment and looked up into Dean's face. "Please?"

Dean allowed the comment about Chad to slide; storing it away for later use should the moment arise. "Yes, please," he dropped his head back and leaned slightly into the man's lips. It was terrifying, the idea of making any sort of solid commitment to Sam but he was a man of his word. He didn't break his promises and he knew no matter what he'd be here. Until the very end. "I need you." He gasped and threaded his fingers into Sam's long locks, twisting them together until the hair weaved around his fingers.

"God, Dean." Sam's fingernails scraped over Dean's hips as he pulled his jeans down enough to free his lover's already rigid shaft. Dean's fingers tightening in Sam's hair just spurred him on, the gasp from his lips sent shivers down Sam's spine. He slipped his long fingers, still cool from the morning air down along Dean's cock, barely touching the hot flesh with the rough pads of his fingers. He took in a shuddering breath and kissed the head of Dean's shaft sliding his tongue along the underside of the ridge of skin. Settling his warm mouth just over the tip of his lover's shaft Sam let his lips slowly drag back as he sucked gently. He swirled his tongue around the warm, musky flesh, placing a kiss on the tip.

A loud groan fell from Dean's lips as his eyes fixated down on his lover, watching the slip of tongue between his lips, over Dean's flesh like fire. For just a moment he remembered overhearing a conversation in a coffee house between two girls, something to do with makeup sex being the best kind of sex. Dean decided it would be a good time to test that theory.

Digging his nails into Sam's shoulders, he pulled the man up forcefully and spun him round, dropping him heavily onto the bed. His fingers tore into Sam's clothing, making quick work with the shirt and lifting Sam by the fabric to yank it off. Dean latched onto the skin of Sam's neck, biting hard as he worked the button and zipper between his fingers. Once more he shoved Sam back down and pulled off his boots and socks, quickly followed by his jeans and boxers.

Screw making Sam take it slow. Dean wanted it _now_. He stared down at his lover as he hooked his fingers in his pants and slid them down, hastily kicking off his own boots and pulling off his socks before stepping out of his jeans. Glassy eyes fixated on Sam's hazel ones as Dean curled his fingers round the hem of his shirt and tugged it up and over. "I need you." He repeated, crawling forward onto the bed.

Sam crawled further up the bed as Dean moved over him. Sam arched his body up on the bed like a bow, pushing against Dean's torso, his hips; he wanted Dean so badly, so much. Settling slowly back onto the bed with a long sigh Sam reached up to cup Dean's cheek; "I _need_ you. I don't think you know how much." Sam's eyes were fixed on Dean's and he smiled sadly. There just wasn't a way for him to convey what was inside him, the turmoil at thinking that Dean might leave him then waking to find his lover stepping over him to do just that. Straining up Sam pressed his lips against Dean's, breath hitching in his chest.

Dean fell down into the kiss, eagerly passing his tongue along the inside of Sam's mouth and savoring his flavor. He slid his hips down, rolling them together in a rocking motion. He moaned at the contact, thrusting forward for more almost instantly. After a few minutes he broke the kiss, panting for breath and resting his forehead against Sam's.

"Do you trust me?" He asked through shallow gasps as the oxygen flooded through his system. His hips continued to rock softly, hot flesh meeting and burning then slipping away only to repeat once more. It was torturous, surely for the both of them, but Dean did enjoy the anticipation.

Sam threw his head back and moaned, louder than he meant to - it just burst out of him. "Yes. Damnit it... yes." He just wanted Dean's body everywhere, now, no more questions. His hands slipped over Dean's back trying to pull him down. He whined softly as he felt Dean's resistance, _always_ in control.

"Yes," Sam repeated, hands frantically moving over Dean's body, "yes, I trust you without question." His breath hitched as Dean's hips pressed against his.

"Good." Dean nodded and pulled back, stepping off the bed and reaching out to plant firm hands on either side of Sam's waist, rolling him over roughly and dragging him down the mattress until he was bent awkwardly over the foot of it. Dean smiled for a moment as he watched him try to adjust himself there without slipping down. He stared down at Sam’s ass hungrily and leaned down to press himself into the curve of Sam's back, tugging hard at the man’s hair until his head lifted up off the bedspread. "I have so many things I'd like to do to you." He growled into his lover's ear, biting down sharply on the lobe.

Blinking the pain away from the overstrained muscles in his neck and the sudden shock of Dean's teeth - Sam couldn't help the hissing sound that escaped his lips. "Anything," he whispered, his voice strained from the angle Dean held him at. His cock was aching and he moved his hips slightly as he bit down hard on his bottom lip. He could feel his skin coming to life, a firestorm raging through his nerve endings. "N-need," but he had no idea what. _Dean_. Dean would know - Dean would take care of him, he promised. Sam closed his eyes and relaxed his body completely - allowing Dean to control him completely.

Dean spent a few minutes contemplating the body beneath him, dragging the hard line of his cock along Sam's ass before pulling back and letting his hand trace down the flesh instead. With a little jolt of heat he lifted his hand and let it fall loudly and sharp across the rounded cheek, enjoying the sting it sent through his fingers. Dean sucked his lower lip between his lips to bite back the moan and repeated the slap, harder, on the opposite mound of flesh. Both hands shot out to grab Sam’s hips as the rolled slightly. "No Sam, you know the rules. Keep your hips still until you can't take any more. Until you’re just begging for my cock to be buried inside you."

Sam's body leapt beneath the sudden sting of Dean's hand, his cock pulsing hard at the sound of Dean's voice. Lips slammed shut Sam breathed out hard and heavy through his nose. He stilled beneath Dean, the strain showing as a slight shudder throughout his body. "Y-yes." His voice was unsteady, broken and he struggled with himself trying to keep the control so important to Dean.

It was easy to land the next stinging slaps against flesh, one right after another until his hand burned. Sam's ass was red and as Dean dropped to his knees, he could feel the raw heat radiating off the skin. Dean wet his lips and pressed soft kisses to the abused flesh, dragging his tongue slowly along the skin.

Fingers latched along his lover's cheeks Dean pulled them apart, exposing the tight ring of muscle to his eager eyes. Another drag of his tongue across his lips and he leaned forward, swiping at the puckered flesh once, twice, then pulling back just enough to bite the red imprint of his hand on Sam's cheek.

Sam cried out at the intimate touch, and then slammed his face down into the mattress when the pain of Dean's bite shot up his spine. His fingers splayed out on the mattress, then closed slowly into fists, arms shaking. The effort of keeping his hips still was almost too much, Sam lifted his fist and slammed it down on the bed. "Dean... please" His heart was slamming against his ribs his hands moving on the material in front of him, moving the way they wanted to move over Dean's body.

"Please?" Dean repeated the words and slipped forward once more to tongue at the muscle, pushing past the resistance and sliding in. Once he had thoroughly covered the hole with spit he brought up two fingers and sucked them into his mouth, waiting a moment before pushing them roughly inside his lover.

"Is this what you want? The feel of me inside you? Or is it still not enough?" Dean growled the words and dropped a hand to the still overheated flesh, kneading the skin under his palm. His fingers stretched and scissored the hole, and he added third only moments later.

The shudder that ran through Sam's body was making it difficult to think. Everything was feeling, touch, _fuck_. Dean's tongue was working him in ways he's never imagined. Sam's hips were trembling with the strain of staying still and with every movement of Dean's fingers Sam could feel his cock aching and throbbing against the rough cover on the bed. He brought his hand under his face, biting down hard on the back of it, moaning and whispering Dean's name over and over.

Dean pulled his fingers out of Sam abruptly and stood up, tapping the man's ass a few times. "Crawl up," he instructed, waiting for him to move before dropping to his knees and digging in the duffel back for the lube. He stared at Sam's spread body as he squirted the liquid in his palm and rubbed it slowly along his aching cock, heart picking up speed at just the idea of slipping into the man's impossible heat. "You're being so very good, not touching yourself." Dean said calmly and crawled up onto the mattress, spreading Sam's legs and crawling between them. "Now I'm going to give you what you want."

Sam's teeth sank into the back of his own hand, drawing blood, the pain easing the shaking of his body for a few brief moments. Sam's lashes fluttered closed as his flesh burned away with each moment he waited, laid there, spread out and owned. Drawing in a trembling breath, Sam pulled his hand from his mouth a faint smile creeping onto his lips.

Curling his hands along Sam's hipbones, Dean dragged the man up to his knees to get the best angle. He let one hand fall to Sam's cheek, spreading the flesh once more and using his right hand to guide his cock in. Dean was instantly sucked in by tight muscle and burning fire as he thrust forward until he was buried balls deep in Sam.

It was always amazing, always intense, but this time Dean felt his _soul_ shake. Like just the action was saying something he'd never thought to say aloud. _Mine_. And he rocked back just an inch, pushing in slowly. Every other time was rough and fast and Dean realized with a start he didn't want this time to be that. So he pulled all the way out and spun Sam onto his back before the man had a chance to react. "Knees up," he breathed and draped Sam's legs across his chest, once more sinking down into tight heat, eyes meeting his lovers and holding until he was fully sheathed.

Sam's breath caught in his chest, eyes locked with Dean's. Reaching out, Sam's fingers feathered their way down Dean's thighs and fell to the mattress as he cried out. _Fuck_ , the feel of Dean inside him, so full, so hot, was only intensified by his gaze. Sam could see the pure lust in Dean's eyes but there was more, something deeper, something powerful. The muscles in Sam's belly were rippling with strain, his body folded, pulling, aching. He murmured his lover's name, over and over desperately wanting him to move, wanting more touch, wanting... _more_.

When the pressure surrounding him became too much Dean slid all the way out and slammed back in. He had initially intended slower thrusts but chose deep and long, drawn out and shallow. When he rolled his hips in just the right way he knew he'd be able to brush Sam's prostate. Once he was confident he found the area he aimed for it each time.

"Sam," he moaned and pulled out, slammed in. Hands dropped from Sam's legs to circle around to his chest, fingers spreading wide on the flesh and pressing down hard with each thrust. "God, Sam." He gasped and bent Sam's legs down, pushing forward to crash his mouth against Sam's.

Dean's hard thrust caught Sam off-guard, crushing the breath out of him, then he was blinded; each thrust deep-within bringing waves of sensation over Sam's body, "Jesus, Dean," he arched up then felt himself shoved down against the bed. His entire body was thrumming with pleasure, each hard thrust deep within him sending Sam closer to the edge. He sucked Dean's tongue into his mouth, greedy, wanting anything he could get, _wanting all of Dean_. Pinned below his lover, driven into the mattress time and again by his stiff cock, Sam chased Dean's mouth with his own, wanting to be connected everywhere, needing this.

It was pretty obvious when he pulled back from Sam's lips that he wasn't going to last much longer. The beginning tendrils of his orgasm were already curling their way up his legs and Dean moaned Sam's name on repeat. He pushed back and let his hands balance on the back of Sam's thighs, one snaking out to curl around Sam's cock and twist up with each thrust in, slide down with each pull out.

"I love you Sam." He gasped the words through the haze of fog clouding his mind, eyes locking with Sam's as he notched up his pace to a nearly impossible speed. "Come with me." He urged and slammed hard and quick into his lover, jerking him fast and urging on the man's orgasm as his own pushed forward.

Sam's orgasm started to uncoil deep within him, sending sparks shooting out through his body. His hands flew up to Dean's body, wherever he could find purchase. He didn't need Dean's words anymore. Each thrust sent tendrils of pleasure radiating out from deep within him; Dean's hands were perfect on his body, holding the straining muscles of Sam's thighs tight. It was so much, it was everything.

One more thrust and Sam felt the pulsing heat of Dean’s release; it was that sensation washing into him, throbbing that sent Sam careening over the edge. His own orgasm burst inside him like some sort of liquid explosion, the sensations flooding through his belly, his hips twisting as his come shot in thick ropes over Dean's hand landing on his legs, his belly.

When Dean had pumped out what remained of his orgasm he collapsed on Sam with a heavy sigh, not caring that he landed in a small pool of Sam's come. "Fuck," he panted and pulled back enough to slip off his lover and roll to the side. His eyes stayed closed as he laid flat against the mattress, taking in large gulps of air until his breathing returned to something closer to normal.

"That was-" he wet his lips and dragged Sam across his body, sliding their lips together. "Amazing. You were amazing." He grinned and shook his head. "I sound like a teenager who just lost his virginity. Amazing." He snorted the word and stared into Sam's eyes through his own half opened eyes.

Sam let himself be handled, pulled over his lover; his body was boneless and weak - nothing left. His hips twitched and he settled onto Dean, hot, sticky, sweating and sated. "Was amazing," Sam muttered against Dean's chest; his tongue darting out to lap softly as Dean's salty skin, "always is."

Sam turned his head slightly, gazing up at Dean, "I'm ... sorry. I would never have left. I -" the words dried up like dust inside Sam's chest and he just stared at Dean. _Would never leave you - can't leave you._

"I know," Dean nodded and dropped a quick kiss to his lips. "I wouldn't. I don't think I could have either." He sighed and pulled Sam close, letting his eyes slip closed. "Doesn't matter. It's all behind us. And I'm not going anywhere. You're mine. Forever."


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke from a very odd dream about lying in a swimming pool of sea glass that kept nicking at his skin and causing little spatters of dark crimson to stain bright blues and rich greens. As his eyes opened it took a moment for him to figure out what woke him.

He realized the bed beside him was empty which likely meant it was morning and Sam probably had something in the works for breakfast. His stomach churned and a slow smile worked its way along his lips.

In the two or so weeks that had passed since their kill - which led to their big fight followed by their amazing make up sex - Dean had felt more comfortable with the man than he could ever remember feeling anywhere. Sam and he seemed to click on a whole new level, falling into step with each other as if it were the most natural thing ever. It warmed Dean's heart in a way he hadn't anticipated ever feeling.

After a few minutes of being awake he realized he could hear the low murmur of Sam's voice and a frown worked its way across his lips. He stayed perfectly still, listening as hard as he could to pick up any words, something to tell him whether Sam was just talking to himself or... And then he heard it. The faintest word that sounds just like bye followed by something he _knew_ was a name. Chad. It was clear and echoed like a bullet in Dean's mind.

He rolled to his side and watched Sam through cracked eye lids. He looked upset, possibly shaken by the conversation. Dean felt his heart shatter slightly. All this trust they'd worked so hard to build and here was Sam. Talking to this Chad guy _on the phone_ though he'd denied they knew each other that well. For all Dean knew, Chad could be some secret lover. Dean quickly shook the thoughts away. No. He'd know if Sam was fooling around with someone else. But Chad was obviously _something_ and Dean couldn't let it continue.

Sam set the phone on the counter and crossed to the bathroom. Dean waited until he heard the door click before darting out of the bed, running across the loft as quietly as possible and flipping open the phone. His fingers shook as he copied the number onto his palm before snapping it closed and once more running back across the loft. He'd managed to copy the number onto a paper and stuff it in his bag before Sam emerged from the bathroom. The desire to question him about the phone call was strong but he held it back, biding his time, and instead headed to the bathroom himself. "Morning," he said casually as he crossed the loft.

"Hey." Sam grinned and walked over to press a kiss to Dean's cheek. Talking to Chad had given him a headache, the more he put Chad off about calling, the more Chad started to suspect that something was going on. The whole mess was leaving a big knot in Sam's stomach. He sighed and leaned against Dean, slipping his arms around his lover's hips. "Want to take a shower? Want coffee? Want me?" He burrowed his face into Dean's neck and breathed in deeply.

Dean hummed and turned to capture Sam's lips in a brief kiss. "Want all of the above," he grinned and stepped away. "Gotta piss though. And need coffee. So it's coffee. Shower and you." He ruffled Sam's hair and watched him for a long moment.

"Anything you wanna say?" The words slipped out without him meaning them to so he kept a smile on his lips and waited to see what Sam did with the seemingly random question.

"I, Uh…” Sam took a step back, he always hated it when Dean threw questions like that at him because he wanted more than anything to tell Dean the truth but he knew it would ruin things; he's just got Dean to trust him, to promise he would stay and he wasn't going to jeopardize that. "I've got a really bad headache." That much was the truth. He leaned his forehead against Dean's cool hair; it smelled of sleep and _them_.

"I'm sorry," Dean said slow and soft, trying not to let his voice sound sad and betrayed. Whatever the reason behind Sam keeping Chad secret, Dean sincerely hoped it was worth it. Of course, he knew now and things needed to happen. "You should eat something. I'll be back in a minute." He stepped away from Sam and headed toward the bathroom, mind already circling through plans and ideas.

Sam scratched his head and watched Dean disappear from the room. Crossing over to the kitchen counter he picked up his phone and flipped it open and closed a few times. He would have to speak with Chad and tell him that things were complicated and that he needed to move on; better yet, he could just get his phone disconnected. Even though Chad knew Sam's last name it would be next to impossible for Chad to find him.

He wasn't sure what it was that kept him going back to Chad - exploring their friendship - testing the limits. Maybe it was because Chad was a link to some kind of normalcy that Sam had never thought he would have. A last link... the last thing that might save him if something went wrong. Sam shook his head and sat down at the counter, tapping the phone gently on the hard surface. It was too complicated to sort out this early in the morning. He was still fiddling with his phone went Dean emerged from the bathroom a short time later.

Dean's step faltered for a moment as he looked from Sam's hand to the phone it was touching. "Coffee?" He asked as he tried to make his progress across the loft look natural. His eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the spot where Sam's phone set, glancing up when a cup of coffee was set in front of him, just the perfect amount of cream. "Are you expecting a phone call or something?"

Standing for a few moments right beside Dean, Sam's hand drifted up, fingers curling over his lover's forearm. "A call?" He looked down at Dean's arm careful not to meet his eyes, watching the tendons move slightly as Dean's fingers moved on the coffee cup. "Who would call me?" Sam's heart sped up just a notch. He turned and went to the coffee pot and began making a cup of coffee for himself.

Dean hummed as if he had no idea. He raised the mug to his lips and took a long sip, rolling the taste over his mouth. It disappointed him, the way Sam seemed completely alright with the idea of lying. "Hard to say." He shrugged and took another drink. Dean couldn't let it go without addressing it. Maybe Sam would surprise him with an actual logical explanation. "Chad maybe?"

Sam froze for a few seconds, his heart skipping a few beats. He closed his eyes and leaned on his hands, pressing them against the counter, feeling Dean's eyes on his back. Sam tried a few things out in his mind, _I couldn't make him stop calling me, it didn't seem like it would hurt, I think I might have loved him once, how do you let go of every last piece of normal?_

Sam shrugged a shoulder. "I-" he turned slowly, unable to meet the gaze of his lover - knowing he'd smashed through every bit of trust they had struggled so hard to build between them. "Can we? Can we do this later?" He rubbed a hand down his face. Sam turned and grabbed his coffee moving slowly to walk past Dean into the computer area.

"Because all the time that's passed that you've most likely been talking to him hasn’t been enough?" Dean pushed out of the chair, surprised that he was able to keep his own voice at a normal level. He moved silently across the loft, not toward Sam, but toward the closet were he'd allowed Sam to hang his things.

"You give me all this shit about my issues Sam and now you can't even face your biggest one? You, all this crap about trusting you and then, as it turns out, I was right." He chuckled as if it was funny, as if he didn't feel like his heart as being smashed. "So what is it? Did he turn you down? Was I just a good thing because I give you that extra jolt of excitement that Chad can't provide?"

"Wha…?" Sam moved across the loft to where Dean was standing. "No. No, there was never. Chad and I were never." The words tumbled out over each other in a desperate mess. "It's not like that," _I don't even understand it_ , "Dean, please, I just didn't deal with it. I messed up. There aren't..." Sam's eyes were prickling with unshed tears. Reaching forward he slid his fingers across Dean's palm.

Dean shook him off and stepped into a pair of pants. "How am I supposed to believe that?" He spoke softly though his voice was cold and he could _feel_ Sam's shoulders stiffen. "How am I supposed to believe anything you say Sam? I've given you plenty of opportunities. You've had loads of chances to confess the truth here and you never did. And I've given you _everything_. I made promises and there was _never_ anything I kept from you. I have no secrets and for all I know, you have a whole different side I've never seen." Dean stepped into his boots, crossing to his duffel bag that was stored on the other side of the loft.

Sam followed him, trailing along in Dean's wake, "What are you doing? You're not..." He moved ahead of Dean walking backwards as he talked to him, "you said you'd never leave, you promised me." Sam pushed hard on Dean's chest wanting him away from his bag. "You promised." His chest felt like a steel band was tightening around it, his head throbbing.

"There's something I need to do." Dean met Sam’s eyes, daring him to push the situation further. "But I'm coming back. You can _trust_ me." He stepped past the man and headed to gather his supplies. "And you can have the time you need to figure shit out. Reevaluate your priorities. Figure out what you really want."

"I know what I want." Sam spoke without hesitation. Sam moved around Dean again to bar his way. "I want this, what we have, I want you. There's nothing else." Sam tried to stop Dean from moving, grasped his upper arms and held him tightly. "I was going to change the number on my phone today, Chad's worried because I disappeared that's all. He's not like you and I."

There was a desperation in Sam's voice that surprised him, this couldn't be happening. _Not now_. "Please, don't go - stay - I'll - I’ll do whatever you want. Smash the phone - punch me, beat the shit out of me, stay. Stay here and we'll figure it out." Sam was clinging to Dean's shirt with one hand refusing to let go.

It took several deep breaths before Dean was able to push Sam off his shirt, reaching up to cup his face and press a soft kiss to Sam's lips. "That doesn't change the fact that you lied, have been lying, all this time. I can't handle that Sam and I need my time. And you need yours." He headed toward the elevator, hand outstretched and resting on the handle.

"It's easy to feel the way you do now. We'll see how you feel in a few days. I love you Sam, I really do." He pulled the doors open, holding his breath for a moment before forcing himself to take a step forward.

Sam's body launched at the elevator, slamming into Dean's back harder than he intended, stumbling and falling hard against the side of the elevator. He grunted softly, pain shooting through his shoulder and arm. "Dean. No. Don't leave me here." When he managed to push up to his feet again he clutched his throbbing shoulder.

"Please, Dean. I'm begging you, okay? Don't do this. Don't. Don't..." the last word was almost a whisper. There was no hiding the tears now on Sam's cheeks. He stepped closer to Dean, leaning in to rub their cheeks together, "please..." such a small word.

Dean's heart lurched in his chest and his eyes slid closed. It would be easy; he could turn into Sam's embrace and take him back. Forgive him this as he had the other things. But it was like all the other lessons he'd needed to teach Sam. His lover would never learn if he didn't _make_ him.

So he pushed Sam back, stepping out of the elevator and grabbing Sam by his arms, squeezing tightly. "I'll be back Sam. Stay here." He said the words as firmly as he could and stepped back into the elevator, sliding the doors closed and hitting the button for the bottom ground quickly. "Stay here." He repeated before the lift could start moving.

Sam's shoulders fell as the elevator started moving down. He wouldn't follow any further, wouldn't leave the loft; he spun towards the front window and threw his phone as hard as he could against the wall and watched as it exploded into dozens of pieces of plastic. Time seemed to pass strangely, Sam heard the elevator clunk to a halt on the main floor, heard the very distant roar if the Impala and the engine sounds fading off in the distance. He pressed him thumb and forefinger to his eyes; pushing until all he could see were bright flashes.

"He'll come back," he whispered. But the emptiness started to churn inside Sam, the reminder of all those years alone, with no one to understand, no one there in middle of the night when Sam rolled over and reached out.

Moving slowly, deliberately, Sam moved to the bed and tore the quilt off dragging it behind him as he moved to the couch. Folding his long frame onto the end of the couch, Sam pulled the quiet up to his chest, fingers curled into the cloth, eyes fixed on the elevator. "He'll come back."

-=-=-=-

The first day was the worst. Sam spent almost the entire day with his eyes fixed on the elevator doors. Every time there was the slightest sound in the warehouse, shifting walls, wind pushing against a window, Sam would sit up and strain to hear the Impala. But Dean was not coming back that day. A _few_ days he had said, maybe three, maybe four. It made Sam's heart flutter even thinking about how much time might pass before he would see Dean again. He had said he would come back, he'd promised.

Dean had never lied to _him_.

Lurching to his feet Sam kicked out wildly at the coffee table, knocking it over and scattering things across the floor. He stood there in the middle of his home, _their_ home, panting, fists clenched against his thighs. As he realized what he'd done, looking around, realized that it was his fault Dean was gone - emptiness began to form inside him. It was like a black hole in his very core, sucking everything in, turning him inside out and leaving nothing but raw nerves and emotion facing the reality of what he'd done.

Sam's eyes were glazed, distant as he moved to the closet. Pulling out his duffel Sam grabbed his knife, _the knife_ , his gift from Dean. Turning it over in his hands he remembered the night it had pulled across his lover's palm cutting into his flesh. Pressing the sharp blade against his rough palm, Sam dragged it across his skin. He grimaced slightly, and then a smile settled onto his face as the blood seeped out of the wound. _He said he would come back._

The sun dawned slowly on the second day, rays having to worm their way through grey storm clouds. Sam awoke stiff, aching, his neck at an awkward angel. He had tried to sleep in the bed but the huge expanse of white sheets seemed too big, too lonely, and too empty.

At about two am, Sam had let out a frustrated groan and torn the quilt off the bed, moved to the couch and fallen into a restless sleep. He got up and went through his usual morning routine, even setting out Dean's coffee mug on the counter. It made his jaw clench to see the cup sitting there, not to hear the sounds of his lover moving around behind him in the warehouse.

Walking over to the window Sam kicked the pieces of his broken phone out of the way and kneeled on the window seat, staring out. There was no one for miles on the road. He settled there, waiting, staring; his fingernails picked at the fresh wound on his palm until it was bleeding afresh. The pain kept him centered on Dean's promise to return.

Sam ate when he managed to think about it, showered quickly, and drank until the beer in the fridge was gone. He wasn't going to leave the warehouse in case he missed Dean.

The third morning - it could have been afternoon - he was losing track of time - Sam woke up and darted over to the kitchen sink and threw up. He wasn't even aware that he was sobbing until he heard the sounds of his own crying, somehow outside his body. He slid down the front of the counter, palms against the cupboard until his body pooled on the floor, crying softly.

After an hour, a day, three hundred years? Sam kneeled up and grabbed his knife, his gift from Dean. Leaning back against the cupboard Sam slid the knife slowly back and forth across his thigh, watching the fine blood red lines appear. His face was wet, covered with tears, his nose running and he breathed almost silently in the empty warehouse.

Eventually Sam used the counter to pull himself up and turned on the tap to drink a little water, then staggered back to the bed and crawled up into the middle of the mattress still clutching the knife to his chest. Hair stuck to his cheeks, Sam rocked back and forth slowly, scraped the edge of the blade against his chest. He fell asleep, after many hours, many cuts, exhausted and clinging to his knife.

-=-=-=-

Dean bypassed the floor Sam and he called home - even though his skin itched for Sam's touch - and instead went up to the fourth. He knew Sam wouldn't come up to him, though he was sure it would take the last of his lover's will power. Of course he was sure the curiosity was killing the man. So Dean made quick work with the man he dragged across the floor.

He laid down the tarp out of habit, and stripped the man. Blood coursed through him on high speed as he made quick work with the blond boy, retying wrists and ankles. After he was sure the blindfold was still secure, Dean crossed to his duffel bag to retrieve another needle full of clear liquid. Just in case, he injected the drug into the blonde’s neck. It wouldn't do to have him waking before Sam and Dean returned.

Four days and Dean wasn't sure he could handle it much longer, so he crossed the flat open space quickly and stepped back in the elevator. Though he had assumed Sam would remain obedient and not bother him before he returned to the floor, Dean had to admit he was a little disappointed to not find the man waiting. That was until he pulled the doors open and inhaled sharply, immediately recognized the familiar tinge of blood. Dean's eyes skidded across the floor, following the trail with quickened breath; Dean hovered over the bed uncertainly. The white sheets were stained and Dean's heart stopped.

"Sam?" he whispered the words, dropping down onto the mattress and gathering the man up in his arms, shoulders relaxing slightly when he felt the rise and fall of the man's chest. "Oh Sammy... what have you done?"

Sam stirred, frowning slightly then forced his eyes open. "Dean?" He took in a deep breath and struggled to reach up his hand to touch his lover's cheek. "You came back."

The knife fell from Sam's hand, bounced on the mattress and clattered to the floor. Sam grunted as he slid his arms around Dean's neck and buried his face in the warm familiar smell. He clung to Dean, shaking, afraid to let go in case he wasn't

"Of course I did. I said I would," Dean said softly and wrapped his arms under Sam, carrying him to the bathroom. "It's alright; you've obviously just made a bit of a mess of yourself." He sighed and set the man on the floor, turning on the bath and letting the water flow.

"We'll fix it." Dean helped his lover out of his boxers before helping him into the bath tub. "Might sting a bit but it's the fastest ways to clean off the cuts. They all look pretty shallow but we'll check after to see if any needs bandaging..." He trailed off as he stared at the man's features. "Oh Sam," Dean ruffled his lover's hair for a moment before stepping up and back. "I'll be right back. Gonna get you some water and Advil."

Sinking down into the warm water, Sam moved the washcloth slowly over his body. He liked the stinging sensation. _Dean came back_. He let himself sink down under the water and then bobbed up, pushing his wet hair off his face. He was examining the cut on his palm when Dean came back into the bathroom.

"Drink," he offered the cup and waited until Sam took a sip before tilting the bottle in his hand for a few capsules. "Take these." He instructed and knelt for just a moment to pop them in Sam's mouth. It was a little unnerving to see Sam so broken and Dean had a flicker of hesitation, thinking of the man tied up a few levels up. But it had to come to this and Sam might not see it now but he would soon. He'd simply been too caught up in the despair of the moment. "What would you like to eat?"

Swallowing the pills Sam frowned, "not hungry." He sipped some of the water, then realized he was really thirsty and drained the rest of the glass. His hand moved from the mug to Dean's arm, fingers curling gently over the man's forearm. "Dean, can I try and explain now... about Chad?" Sam had done nothing but think about it while Dean was gone.

With a frown Dean shook his head and stood, heading for the door and hovering along the wall. "No, not now. But eating isn't an option. I'm willing to bet you haven't eaten very much in the time I've been gone and you need food. So either you choose something or I will."

"I just want to explain, I've..." Sam looked up, hand curled over the edge of the tub. "I thought a lot - I was wrong, I know I was. Just let me explain..." Sam's eyes were wide, pleading.

"Sam, you can explain later." Dean sighed and walked out of the bathroom, crossing quickly to the kitchen and digging through the fridge for something quick. He settled on something that wouldn't hurt the man's stomach, a few pieces of cheese and some crackers. It had protein at least. Dean could make something better for him later. When he returned to the bathroom Sam was still staring at the door. "Here eat some of this. I promise we'll talk more... later."

Sam reached out and took the plate, water sloshing gently against the tub as he moved. He ate the crackers first, the sound of crunching filled up the bathroom.

Sam didn't know what was wrong, Dean still seemed removed, preoccupied. Sam shoved a piece of cheese in his mouth and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. "Where did you go, Dean?" He looked up and tried a smile on for size. Taking the last cracker off the plate and setting it down on the counter, Sam bit into it, chewing and watching Dean's face.

"There was something I needed to... get." Dean grabbed the empty water glass and headed out the door again, calling over his shoulder. "I'm gonna get you some juice, to help fill you up more." He was anxious, wanted this whole thing to be over and done with. The quicker he had an answer, the better he'd feel. After a minute he returned to the bathroom and set the glass along the edge of the tub. "Finish cleaning up. Then we'll check out the cuts. Are you still tired?"

Sam reached for the glass and took a drink. "I'm okay." He looked down. "Are you? Are you still upset with me?" With his free hand Sam ran the washcloth roughly over the shallow cuts on his thighs. Placing the glass gently on the side of the tub, he soaped up the washcloth and rubbed it on his neck and chest.

Dean folded his legs beneath him and sat on the cold tile by the tub. A small sigh left his lips as he studied Sam's features. "No, though I am upset." He lifted his shoulder and dropped it heavily. "Maybe just in general." He slid forward slightly and reached out to caress Sam's face. "I have missed you. Very much."

Blinking, Sam pressed his lips together and stared into Dean's eyes then leaned into his lover's touch. "I was scared you wouldn't come back because you hated me... or something." Sam looked down and moved the wash cloth slowly over the wound on the palm of his hand.

"I told you I would come back." Dean said softly and reached into the water to grasp the wash cloth and Sam's hand, rubbing the area softly. "I never gave you any reason to think that I wouldn't. Why don't you finish up here? I'm going to get you something to wear and then-" he brought the flesh to his lips and kissed it softly before placing the rag in Sam's hand and letting go. He stood and headed toward the door.

Sam washed quickly; he didn't like being separated from Dean, felt better when he could see him. He stepped out of the tub, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist then padded out into the living area. "Dean? I was thinking," Sam combed his fingers through his damp hair and pushed it back off his forehead, "maybe we could go away for a vacation or something, you know, somewhere warm with an ocean. Walks on the beach..."

Dean turned from the closet, holding onto a pair of jeans and a shirt for a moment before tossing them toward Sam. "Yeah, it might be nice to get away." He wet his lips and walked to the bed, pulling at the bloodied sheet. "We have a few other things to take care of first, depending on what happens well..." He swallowed thickly and pulled up hard on the sheet, sending the pillows and blanket sliding off the edge of the mattress. "We'll see."

Sam moved over to stand behind Dean and slipped his arms around his chest, pressing his slightly damp skin up against the back of Dean's shirt. "I missed you so much, _so_ much." Sam smiled into Dean's hair, breathing him in, leaning some of his weight on Dean. "I love you." Sam's lips moved along Dean's neck, kissing his softly. "Dean." Sam nuzzled into his lover's hair again and nipped his neck.

"I love you too." Dean said softly and stepped away from him, turning to drag his eyes slowly up and down Sam's body. "Are you feeling a little better now? Or would you like to rest more?"

"I want you." Sam stepped closer again. He smiled, and then it faded slightly as he noticed the determined expression on Dean's face. Sam's hand reached out, fingers slipping through Dean's. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" Stepping back, Sam grabbed his jeans off the end of the bed and pulled them on, dropping the towel on the end of the mattress.

"I'm..." Dean wet his lips and started walking toward the elevator across the loft. "Come with me Sam. It's time now." His stomach sank, terrified of the answer he might get. But there was no backing out now. Dean would never be able to let it rest otherwise. His fingers curled around the large freight doors and he tugged them open, stepping in and waiting for the main to join him.

Sam stepped into the elevator, his bare feet leaving damp marks on the metal floor. He looked over at Dean, puzzled and anxious then took a step closer to the man and threaded their fingers together. Chewing on his bottom lip, Sam waited patiently at Dean's side and smiled slightly when Dean looked up at him. "We just going upstairs?"

A slow nod tilted Dean's head down then up and he pulled the doors shut with his free hand. He squeezed Sam's hand for a moment before sighing softly. The race of his heart increased as the elevator rose and when they came to a stop a cold chill ran through him.

For the first time ever, Dean did not feel the thrill that came with a potential kill. There was no buzz of excitement, just an intense wave of anxiety. He silently pulled the doors open and stepped to the side to allow Sam room to go first. "After you," he gestured toward the spot the blond laid across the room and held his breath.

Sam padded out of the elevator and stopped dead in his tracks. "Dean?" He walked over to the man lying on the floor and it felt like the floor fell out from under him. Sam stumbled a step forwards then backward towards Dean. "Chad..." Whirling to face his lover, Sam's face was pale, his breath coming in short gasps. "What? What are you doing?"

Dean watched the flicker of emotions across Sam's face and turned from him, walking to the duffel bag and bending down to retrieve his knife. He rose and turned back to Sam, spinning the blade between his fingers. "Well that answers my question. You know what the man looks like. Have you ever met in person? He's really quite interesting. And trust me Sam, he's more than interested. Has your picture in a frame and everything." Dean walked to the man and knelt by his side, reaching a finger out to run down the pale skin. "Do you know... I think he might be a tad in love with you. Since he had all your emails printed out."

Rushing over to stand beside Dean, Sam's hands grasped onto Dean's shirt. "What are you doing? This is. It's not. I've only seen pictures of him; I've never met him - just talked on the phone." Sam swallowed his throat raw and aching. "Is he okay?" He turned and kneeled beside Chad, reaching out to brush the blond hair back off his face; his fingers brushed the young man's cheek softly.

Something unpleasant twisted in Dean's gut and he hissed stepping up and back from the body as his eyes burned down into Sam touching the blond so tenderly.

"You would know if he wasn't okay Sam." He said the words quietly, coldly, and he turned from the man. "I've brought him here to give you a choice. Between him and me. If you choose him, choose a normal life and him... then I'll go." His fingers tightened along the blade handle and he continued talking to the wall. "And if you choose me? Then _he_ will no longer be an issue."

"Choice?" Sam's brow furrowed and he looked up from his place at Chad's side. "Choice - I don't understand." Sam pushed up from the floor and walked over to Dean reaching out to pull him back to face him.

"Choice? What choice? There's not. I'm not... there's nothing between Chad and I." Sam was frantic, his eyes locked on Dean's. They were dark; he'd never seen Dean's eyes full of anger and fear. "Dean, let's just let him go. Come on - this is stupid."

"It's not stupid!" Dean snapped and the words morphed as he repeated them. "I'm not stupid. And this is what I _know_ must happen." His eyes burned into Sam's.

"If you're not interested in Chad, then think of him more as your... normality. If you want to keep things from people, if you want a peaceful life, then you choose him." Dean dropped his gaze to scan the full length of the pale blond body, not even sure if the words he was saying were making sense anymore. "If you choose me... then Chad must no longer _be_."

"I didn't say you were stupid. I didn't mean... _Jesus_." Sam paced, his body shivering in the cool air, his hands clenched at his sides.

"I won't do it." Sam folded his trembling arms trying to appear stronger than the felt - but his convictions were shaky. "I won't make a decision if it means I lose you or Chad's life." Sam took a step away from Dean shaking his head, "I won't do this." Tears welled up in his eyes and everything was distorted until they spilled out onto his cheeks.

"I made a mistake, that's all, one mistake. I want you... I want my life with you - what we have. Chad is my friend. A _friend,_ regardless of what his feelings are for me. I won't be responsible for my friend's death. How can you make me do this?" Sam stepped right up to Dean and slid his fingers through Dean's belt loop, "please. Let's just go." Sam tugged Dean closer to his chest.

Dean stepped back from Sam's touch and shook his head. "You know, the real kicker? I might not have minded you having a friend if I knew he was just that. But how can I ever believe that's all it is when you've gone so out of your way to hide him from me?" There was no use fighting the decision curling through him but Dean said nothing of it yet. He needed Sam to choose. "And judging by the things you just said? Well then... it sounds like you've already made up your mind." Dean crossed to his duffel bag and stood over it, staring down into the contents.

"I was wrong." Sam's eyes fell to the ground and he stepped backwards, closer to Chad. "I apologized to you and I know I will have to earn your trust back. I don't want you to leave me. Please," the tears were streaming down Sam's face now, "don't do this."

Stepping back again, Sam walked over and knelt beside Chad tugging the man's body up into his arms. With shaking hands Sam struggled to untie Chad's wrists. "I'll just let him go. Let him go and then you and I can leave and no one will know." The words came out of his mouth in a jumbled mess.

"That's not choosing!" Dean snapped and spun to Sam, stalking quickly over to him. Dean's fingers curled over Sam's wrist and tugged him up, spinning him so they faced each other. His eyebrows furrowed as he crowded into the man's space, stepping forward until he had Sam's body pressed against the wall. He released the man's wrist so the only contact they had was between their hips. "The offer wasn't you and me _and_ Chad goes free. Pick Chad, I go. Pick me, Chad dies. These are the options Sam."

Sam did the only thing he could think to do and threw his arms around Dean's neck, burying his face in the man's neck. "I c..can't be without you." Sam's sobs were coming full force; he didn't think he'd ever cried like that in his entire life.

"Dean. Please... okay... please." He clung to his lover, unable to even conceive of a world where they weren't together, where he didn't awaken in the morning to roll over and touch Dean's stubbled cheek. "I. Don't leave. Please." He took a few deep breaths and calmed himself a little leaning back against the wall, eyes swollen and red, breath hitching in his chest. He held out his trembling hand for Dean's knife.

Dean rubbed the side of his face against Sam's head and sighed. "So this is your choice?" He wet his lips. "I am your choice?" Sam's fingers merely curled around the handle of his knife but Dean didn't let him. "No." He shook his head and stepped back, reaching out to trace the curve of Sam's jaw. "Tell me. I want to hear you say it."

As his eyes flitted over to Chad's prone form, Sam's bottom lip trembled. He had to clear his throat a few times to even speak. "I... I will k-kill Chad. I can't lose you," he paused and stifled a small sob. "But I. I have to do it quickly, my way, I can't. I can't... draw it out." He bit down hard on his bottom lip and reached for the knife again, tears dripping from his cheeks to his still bare chest.

Once more Dean shook his head and pulled his arm out of reached. He studied Sam for a long time before turning on his heels and walking over to the blond body on the floor. His legs fell on either side of Chad's body and he stared down at the figure for a long moment, distantly registering Sam's cries. Bending at the waist, Dean pulled up on the bounds of Chad's wrist and slipped his blade through them, effectively splitting the connection. He repeated the action with the bounds on Chad's ankles and walked silently to his duffel bag, picking up the sheath for his knife and sliding it in.

Sam was trying to suck in some air, and wiped at his face with the back of his hand his eyes widening in fear and shock. "W..what are you doing?" He spun towards Dean.

"Don't go - I said I would, I will. I promise - just give me the knife. Don't leave me." Sam's hands clutched at the back of Dean's shirt. "I don't want Chad," he almost whispered, "I want you... _always_ you."

Dean gathered Sam close and held him there, rocking him softly back and forth. "It's okay. I'm sorry Sam, for making you do that but..." he sighed and dragged his thumbs across Sam's cheeks, wiping at the tears there.

"We'll let Chad go. And I'm not leaving you. I couldn't. I love you." He breathed in Sam's smell for a long time, wondering what would happen now, if Sam could forgive him for being so cold and harsh. He stepped back and looked down at Chad and sighed. "I don't understand," he shrugged.

Sam's hands were still trembling and he looked back at Dean slowly, "don't understand what?"

"Why you _care_ about him so much." Dean shook his head and turned to look at Sam. "What has he done to make it so hard for you to kill him?"

"Because he cared about me." Sam shrugged a shoulder. "There was no one else; there's _been_ no one else for a very long time. He was normal, and I thought..." Sam looked down. "I thought for a while that maybe if I never found you I could be with Chad, have some sort of life that was more than... what I had alone."

He ran his hands down over his face. "Sometimes, you scare me, Dean." Sam shifted his weight and sniffed. He swallowed, "I love you so much, I want you so much - if feels like I'll just die sometimes from it. It's too much and I don't want it to stop."

Sam's eyes flicked over to Chad. "I could have been with Chad without that fear... because it would never have been what we have." He folded his arms across his chest, lifting a hand to wipe his cheek. "Does that make sense?"

Dean dragged his tongue across his lips and tried to make sense of the words. "No." He admitted and shrugged. "But I understand about the loving you so much. How intense that feels." He bit down on his lip and stepped back from the blond.

"I never - his clothes are over there." He pointed to the pile. "So you can. You know, dress him and I'll, we'll let him go." He sighed and crossed to Sam. "But he can't be part of your life anymore. And it's not because I don't want you to have friends or anything. But it's... well, you understand that right? Why you can never see or talk to him again? Because I don't think I could let him go a second time."

Nodding mutely, Sam moved over to grab the pile of clothes. It took Sam a while to get Chad's clothes on. He was almost dead weight and Sam wasn't going to ask Dean for any help. He studied Chad's face and even slack and drugged, he looked just like the photos that Sam had seen. It was strange. Sam's eyes flitted over to Dean where he was leaning against the wall. Taking a deep breath he smiled at Dean and finished getting Chad clothed. Finally he stood up and took a step back. "Dean? Now what?" He stood there, exhausted - running a hand over his bare chest.

Considering the question for a while, Dean studied the two men on the floor. He'd never had to take someone back before, it was odd and twisted his gut uncomfortably. But there was no chance that Chad would know him, he'd gone out of his way to ensure that just in case Sam... well, it didn't matter now.

"I'll take him down to my car. Drop him off by the hospital where someone will find him. He's not hurt or anything so..." Dean shrugged. "Then I think we should go. And get rid of this place." He sighed, letting go of Chad would put everything at risk, if he could track down the man then there was always the possibility the man could track down Sam and that wouldn't be good. "So while I take him you pack up our supplies."

"Dean?" Sam stepped towards him. "Are we? You and I... are we okay?" Sam chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. He wasn't even going to question Dean's decision to leave the warehouse. He would do anything he wanted.

"Yes," Dean nodded quickly, trying to figure out why he was swimming in a type of guilt he'd never felt before. "I just want this all behind us as soon as possible."

He stepped closer and tugged Sam up into his arms, kissing him deeply for several long moments. "I love you, more than anything." He whispered against his lover's lips and rested their foreheads together. "Do you think we're okay?"

Sam closed his eyes, "I do now." He pulled Dean closer, wanting to keep him close for a while longer. "So... we're not coming back here," Sam pulled back far enough to look into Dean's eyes, "are we?"

Dean slowly shook his head and pressed a chaste kiss to Sam's lips before stepping back. "No, we're not." He knelt by the blond man on the floor and lifted him up into his arms, throwing him over his shoulder. "Get the elevator. I don't want to waist the rest of my supplies on knocking him out again."

As he moved away from Dean towards the elevator Sam's shoulders sagged a little. He knew why they were leaving and he wasn't, for a single moment, going to question Dean's decision, but this was the only home that Sam had known as an adult. He knew he didn't need much to be with Dean, for them to travel. It was just ... a turning point.

Sam waited for the elevator to arrive and opened the doors then walked back over to help Dean. Sliding his arms under Chad's shoulders he lifted him up and waited for Dean to help.

-=-=-=-

Dean couldn't shake the feeling that everything he knew about himself was changing. The entire drive to the hospital, leaving Chad's knocked out form where anyone could find him, and then the drive home, his brain reeled. Flashes of memories, of bodies spread out beneath him, bubbling blood staining perfect skin. Dean's heart ached but in a good way.

As he pulled up to a red light his brain dragged up a memory of a time he and his mother had collected sea glass along the beach. He had been so _happy_ and when she'd gone, he never thought he'd feel that way again. But now ... Dean was happy on a level he'd never even dreamed possible. Just the idea of feeling that way, without a knife between his fingers, a life draining at his will, was almost surreal to him.

He wasn't sure where he and Sam would go now but couldn't be bothered much to care. Really it didn't matter, as long as they were together. The thought made Dean chuckle. He'd never _dreamed_ he'd think something so cliché.

When he pulled up to the warehouse Sam was already outside, a pile of things along the sidewalk that they would need to load into the Impala. He parked in front of him and stepped out, leaving the keys in the ignition and the door open. Crossing around the front of the car quickly, he snatched Sam and pulled him close, overcome with the need to feel their lips together. "Sammy," he whispered before dipping forward.

Sam lost himself in the kiss, slipped his hands up through Dean's soft hair then finally pulled back, breathing hard. He gestured behind him, "I got the things we'll need and I thought..." Sam handed Dean a dark gold Zippo lighter. Combing his hair back from his face Sam smiled almost shyly.

"I covered everything in gas, demagnetized the hard drives on the computers that I left, there's nothing left inside that won't burn." He tipped his chin at the lighter offering it again to Dean.

A faint smile tugged up the corners of Dean's lips and he grasped the lighter, holding it in one hand while digging in his pocket for another. "When I was out. I got you this." He handed the package over, chuckling. "I know it looks like I just wadded up tissues and taped them together and well... yeah I did that but it's what's inside the counts." Dean cleared his throat and stepped toward the items Sam had brought out, almost afraid to watch Sam open the gift. "I'm gonna put this in the back." He hurried around the car to pop the trunk before starting to load things inside.

Fumbling with the small package, Sam got it open and pulled out a pendant. It was a piece of sea glass, green, almost the colour of Dean's eyes. Sam smiled and picked it up by the leather cord holding it up to the light, then slipped it over his head and tucked it in his shirt. Sam turned and picked up a box and walked around to the trunk, fitted it in beside the things Dean had been loading then pulled Dean into his arms. Slipping his arms around Dean's waist he pulled him close and rested his chin on his shoulder. "Thank you," he kissed the shell of Dean's ear then nuzzled into his hair, smiling.

"You're welcome," he smiled in return and turned to capture Sam's lips in a brief kiss before walking around him to grab another box. They finished loading the trunk in silence, shifting things to make room for everything. Dean curled his fingers along the trunk for a moment before dropping it down; flinching slightly at the way the noise echoed around them even though he was certain no one was around. His fingers slipped into his jacket pocket and he pulled out the lighter, thumbing it. "Would you still like me to? Or would you like to?"

Sam walked around to stand behind Dean, hooking his fingers through his belt loops. "You."

Dean leaned back into him for a long moment, staring at the warehouse quietly. This was it. The place he'd found the one person who had changed him forever. And now they were burning down the evidence and moving forward because it was really the only option. With a soft sigh he stepped away from Sam and walked forward, flicking open the Zippo and dragging his thumb across the flint quickly to spark up a light.

He tossed it forward where he could see the faint dark pool of gas, knowing it would catch. Dean turned back to Sam and crossed to him, gathering him close and kissing him deep. "Come on, let's go."


End file.
